Life Goes On
by mjlt2
Summary: After the events of fifth year, Harry experiences a slightly different summer than what he may have originally expected... not that he's complaining. Post-OotP. Eventual Harry/Tonks.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: (1) Not mine, all JK Rowling's. (2) I'll try to keep all the details lined up with those in canon, but if I'm wrong, feel free to let me know about the discrepancies.

This is my take on Harry's life, post Order of the Phoenix. In my opinion, the plotline sort of just went steadily downhill after this book, and while a lot of great characters, ideas, and storylines were introduced post-OotP, I still stand by my opinion that characters started behaving pretty unrealistically and irrationally. Also, by nature, I like to write light-hearted stories, so, while there's going to be a (hopefully) realistic manner in which Harry copes with his burdens, the overall tone of the story won't be angsty; this will not contain whiny!pissedoff!weak!Harry… thus, without further ado, I hope you enjoy! Oh, and reviews are always appreciated, of course.

The One in Which Harry Gets Relief and Tonks Gets an Eyeful

July 23, 1996

'_Honestly, Harry, AGAIN? You're trying to make me die of embarrassment, aren't you, you horny little bastard.'_ But of course, he was trying to do no such thing; in fact, the young man in question was arguably too preoccupied at the moment with more, ah, _pressing_ matters, namely the girl that was writhing beneath his palms, to even conceive of embarrassing his friend. Beyond that, however, Harry had no idea his ministrations were even being observed by a third party, though that knowledge probably wouldn't have stopped him from doing what he was doing anyway.

Nymphadora Tonks merely bit back a sigh and averted her eyes, trying to remain as still as possible beneath the invisibility cloak she was currently hiding under. Were this the first time she put into this position, perhaps the scenario would play out a bit differently; perhaps she would be a bit more shocked or mortified for all parties involved. However, as it was, this was _not _the first instance for this occurrence, and, so, the initial shock value of watching the Boy-Who-Lived shag a muggle girl within an inch of her life had noticeably worn off. Tonks forced her mind to wander, lest she focus too hard on the two teenagers twenty meters away and blush at the _dirtiness_ of it all, and found herself recounting the details of the summer that somehow led to her being in this intensely bizarre scenario, in which, on a stiflingly hot summer night, she was, once again, forced to play the role of a voyeur (though, if she were to be completely honest with herself, there needn't have been that much _forcing_, as the young man was painfully mesmerizing to watch in his own right – but good luck getting Tonks to _ever_ admit that to anyone).

_July 2, 1996_

_Harry was back at the Dursley's for two weeks now, and his routine was quickly established. Whatever manual labor the Dursley's decided to subject their nephew to that week seemed to be what took up the bulk of the time most days. More often than not, it involved the pristine upkeep of No. 4's 'award winning, expertly landscaped, yard.' Apparently, borderline slave labor of a family member makes the grass greener. Who knew? All the guards on rotation agreed that Potter's mood was permanently set on 'in mourning,' with the occasional 'all-consuming anger' interspersed into the mix. So, when, every now and again, the boy shot out of the house like a bat out of hell, running at top speed to no particular destination, but always coming back, the four guards hesitantly agreed to just let him be, rather than force him to live under Albus Dumbledore's proscribed martial law (though, the behavior was downright confusing, and more than one guard was itching to ask why on earth anyone would subject themselves to, basically, a heatstroke, everyday). Surely there was no harm in allowing for Harry to stretch his legs for a bit in broad day light – it was no different than having him toil away for hours in the front yard, and, occasionally, in the neighbors' yards; Petunia made her network of neighborhood gossips know that her little criminal of a nephew that she so graciously kept during the summers at least had a green thumb, and could be borrowed to tend the gardens around the neighborhood if her neighbors so wished – at no charge of course! It was, after all, work that stopped the little delinquent from causing mischief. And thus, Petunia was able to raise her status in the neighborhood at the expense of Harry's sweat and hard work. Petunia, for her part, was smug in her ability to get something without any real effort, and Harry was too apathetic to protest._

_There was much speculation on the four guards' parts concerning Harry's behavior. His actions and inactions were seemingly scrutinized under the lens of a microscope during the guards' weekly meetings at Grimmauld Place, the only thirty-minute period of time a week during which Privet Drive was left unguarded. During these meetings, the members, for the most part, were always the same. Lupin seemed somber and more run down than necessary. Moody looked sympathetic, stilling his usually whizzing artificial eye. Mundungus, was, for once, sober, and a bit gloomy – even though he never felt an emotional attachment to the boy, he, having been forced to tail the boy on two occasions already during his runs, knew exactly how painful sprinting in 39 degree heat for half an hour felt. So, if his guilt and internalized pain exceeded that, well, Dung did not envy the feeling. Tonks just wore a frown, cautiously keeping her emotions in check. Her immediate reaction was to feel pity, but she knew Harry Potter would sooner off himself than accept someone's pity. She yearned to reach out and help him in some way, obviously being the most empathetic of the foursome present. At the moment, however, she resigned herself to simply performing the task at hand, which involved securing his safety – even if it meant ensuring it at the expense of his emotional well-being. Or so they were told by the higher-ups. She sighed as the meeting adjourned and left for her shift, while the others stayed and waited for their next meeting to begin._

_Tuesday nights and Saturdays were her days to be on guard duty. The rotation between Remus Lupin, Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, Mundungus Fletcher, and herself was quite simple. Because neither Remus nor Fletcher had any job (any reputable job, anyway, in Dung's case) to speak of, the two were watchmen Monday through Friday, save Tuesday nights when the inner circle of the Order met, with Tonks and Mad-Eye on duty Saturdays and Sundays, respectively. The guards were on strict orders to merely observe, under the safety of invisibility, for potential danger; then again, Tonks never really paid any attention to rules, except to break them. Of course, having only been on duty for two shifts thus far, Tonks had yet to muster up the courage to ask Harry how he was coping with the loss of his Godfather – her favorite cousin. Though, if the scene unfolding in front of her were an indication of how he was feeling, it would seem that he was coping just fine._

_At first, when Tonks saw the figure of a raven-haired individual climb out of a second story bedroom window, she immediately tensed. Seeing another figure, soon after, approaching did nothing for her apprehension, her knuckles turning white from the firm grip she had on her wand. Clearly, Harry was not surprised by the appearance of the second person, who, Tonks decided upon closer inspection, was nothing more than a short, blond haired girl, holding something in a brown paper bag. Tonks saw an exchange of words between the two, but was not close enough to hear what exactly was being said. Then, suddenly, Harry produced a lighter, seemingly from thin air, while the girl emptied the contents of the bag: a bottle of liquor and a pack of cigarettes. Tonks almost laughed in disbelief at the scene in front of her. The supposed savior of the wizarding world was sitting with a companion in the shadows against the side of his relatives' home at 3am on a Tuesday night drinking and smoking, looking as natural as if he had been born with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of bourbon in the other. The older witch made the executive decision in deeming the situation as non-life threatening._

_The next half hour consisted of Tonks subtly creeping towards the pair of wayward teenagers, allowing for her curiosity to get the best of her. The blond girl looked to be about Harry's age, though shorter and decidedly happier with a glint of youthful cheerfulness in her eyes that Harry no longer possessed – if he ever had it to begin with. She wore a simple pair of white shorts and thin blue tank top that was perfectly practical for the ridiculously humid summer that seemed to be plaguing Britain. Tonks decided that the girl was cute; not beautiful, and certainly not drop-dead gorgeous, but definitely pretty enough to have the ability to turn quite a few heads if she wanted to. She caught snippets of the conversation – _

"_Criminally incurable; really, that scrawny little boy I knew?" The girl was probably a bit louder than she should have been. Mirth and doubt laced her statement._

"_What can I say… full of surprises… you were a right bitch, if I recall…" While the ease in his tone did not match the harshness of the words, neither was he as cheerful as he probably should have been. Then again, given the recent events of Harry Potter's life, thinly veiled pleasantries were the most anyone was going to be getting out of him. The girl seemingly took no offense; she merely shrugged and chuckled lowly, accepting the bottle from Harry's hand after he'd just taken a pull._

"_Still am, depending on who you ask – that whale of a cousin of yours will be the first to let you know." At that, Harry also had to give a low chuckle. Maybe it was the rush of sneaking out of the prison he was condemned to for the summer, the thrill of this momentary glimpse of independence and normalcy he was allowing himself, the copious amounts of alcohol finally addling his brain, or maybe, it was the mere fact that, for one the first times in the past two weeks, he finally had someone to hold a simple conversation with, finally something to take his mind off of Sirius. Whatever the cause, something allowed Harry Potter to laugh for the first time since his Godfather's death, and, dammit, it felt good._

_Tonks was learning all sorts of new things about the enigma that was Harry Potter. From the sounds of it, his experiences of school life pre-Hogwarts left something to be desired, especially if his cousin had anything to say about it. She mentally filed this piece of information away, promising to leave the Dursley boy a nice parting gift at the end of the summer for his horrible misdeeds – and to family, no less! Harry Hunting, indeed! Tonks' self-righteous anger was short lived, swiftly replaced by shock. Sometime after Harry and the girl, Megan, actually, was her name, finished recounting their friendship from primary school, or lack thereof, but before the lapse in conversation grew awkward, the girl – Megan, Tonks reminded herself, attacked Harry. Well, perhaps attacked was too strong of a word, but, really, what other word could be used to describe a person jumping onto another and latching onto their lips with their own, with reckless abandon? Harry, though in sitting position, was, nevertheless, thrown backwards, and was now sprawled on the lawn that he, ironically, kept meticulous care of just that morning._

_She was quite sure that whatever Dumbledore had in mind when he ordered them to watch over Harry this summer, this was not the kind of thing he thought the Potter heir would be getting himself into. 'How did he get that off of her so fas – Oh!' No, no, now she was positive this was not the sort of thing the Headmaster was wary of when he asked certain order members to guard No. 4 Privet Drive. Hands found their way into tangles of hair. The sound of teeth and tongues clashing filled the air, alongside the occasional pant and guttural moan. Fingers deftly made quick work of his belt buckle that clinked loudly throughout the night air. The sound momentarily snapped the two teens out of their lust-induced haze, but, in the blink of an eye, they were back to removing articles of clothing from one another. It wasn't until Harry was down to a pair of boxers and the muggle was down to just panties and a bra did Tonks mind begin to work again._

'_WHAT THE FUCK?!' was all her poor, confused brain could, oh, so eloquently, come up with. Out of every description she had ever heard attributed to Harry Potter, the words 'horny' and 'exhibitionist' failed to ever arise. In fact, if the members of the Order were even an iota of correct in their assessments of the boy, Harry did not know how to even talk to a girl properly, much less pin her against the side of a building while trailing kisses down the column of a girl's neck. But then again, physical evidence trumps word-of-mouth, and, with the noises that were being emitted from Megan, the words 'boy' and 'Harry Potter' really should never be used in the same sentence ever again – unless one were to say 'boy, that Harry Potter sure knows how to shag.'_

_Never in all of her years in existence did Nymphadora Tonks ever feel such a desire to simply disappear. She greatly regretted her previous decision to creep closer to the pair – damn that curiosity – in order to hear their conversation, because, if it were up to her, she'd gladly be chatting it up with Severus Snape right then about hair care techniques than standing where she was at the moment, mortified, blushing beet-red as she watched, 10 meters away, the young man she was charged with guarding, peel off the remaining barrier separating the hips of the two teens, all the while, keeping his lips fused to hers, with his other hand roaming her body. The enthusiasm of the girl was arguably even more pronounced, with her legs immediately wrapping themselves around Harry's slim waist, nails raking across the expanse of his back, and hips grinding away in a manner that seemed quite contrary to the laws of physics. Neither bothered to completely divest Harry of his pants, so they remained awkwardly half-on and half-off, loosely hanging off the curve of his buttocks, obviously only low enough for one purpose, in particular. And, thus, Tonks was left with the image of a couple hastily rutting against the side of a house, partially shrouded in shadow, but not nearly enough so, burned in her memory forever. The way the moonlight played off of the girl's markedly tanner, smoother skin, and Harry's ethereal, taut complexion produced a contrast nothing short of breathtaking; or at least, it took Tonk's breath away. It was like watching a train-wreck: impossible to look away. And just as abruptly as it began, the scene before her ended, punctuated with a high-pitched, but restrained, cry, immediately followed by a low grunt and then a groan._

_For the longest time, nobody moved. Then, snapping out of her reverie, Tonks continued in her effort to creep just a bit farther away; and then she had to go and step on a damn twig, which promptly snapped under her foot – it may as well have been a firecracker. Harry's head snapped in her direction, and even in the dim light of the moon, she could see a piercing glare being sent her way. Fleetingly, she wondered if he could see through invisibility cloaks, but quickly dismissed the idea, considering what she just witnessed, she was pretty damn sure he had no idea someone else was present. All the same, the two teenagers were now busying themselves by picking up articles of clothing, and with Harry giving Megan her left flip-flop, her last piece of missing apparel, the girl gave him a peck on the lips, murmured some remark into his ear, and left in the same direction she had come from._

_Harry stood, rooted at the spot, for what seemed like ages to Tonks, still shirtless, hair clumsily sticking to the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and with pants on, though the last fastener was left still unbuttoned. He unceremoniously made a move for his shirt, but bypassed it in favor of the box of cigarettes that caught his eye... menthol lights? Lighting the smoke, then taking an impossibly long drag, his delayed exhale of the cigarette spoke of satisfaction, albeit short lived. Even in this moment of afterglow, Tonks could see the tension playing across Harry's shoulders. His stance screamed of hostility, and there was a very perceptible trace of a scowl adorning the fifteen year-old's face._

"_Whichever Order member is out there right now, I hope you feel like a bloody pervert," it was spoken softly, but rapidly, and the malice was most assuredly there. This startled Tonks, but not enough to engender a response; nothing on God's green earth was going to convince her to make her presence known to Harry, but at least she had the decency to blush crimson. Realizing he was going to get no reply, he settled on sending a withering glare in the general direction he believed his unknown minder to be in, took one last puff of the cigarette, put it out against the brick wall, and made a motion to flick the remaining butt, but then thought better of it. He instead, placed the litter in his pocket, lest the Dursley's later on find remains of cigarettes scattered across their backyard and scream bloody murder. Picking up his shirt and box of cigarettes, Megan had taken the liquor back with her, and tucking both into his pants pockets, he expertly scaled the wall, using the drainpipe to reenter the window into the smallest bedroom of No. 4 Privet Drive._

_July 6, 1996_

_By her next shift on Saturday, Tonks made a decision. To save them both the embarrassment, she would approach Harry and not the Order about the events of Tuesday night. Apprehension gnawed away at her, but, she rationalized, he wasn't supposed to be leaving the house at night, and she was technically obligated to tell him that. Scoffing at her cowardice – scared of approaching a fifteen-year-old boy, really? (although, said fifteen-year-old DID have an explosive anger management issue) – she steeled herself and apparated into the bedroom of Harry Potter._

_Appearing into the bedroom, Nymphadora Tonks made three observations right off the bat: first, even at 7:30 in the morning with the window open, the room was like sweatbox, humid enough to suffocate. Secondly, that a person lived in such a small room, the savior of the world no less, was a laughable idea, considering she could've made it from one end of the room to the other in two strides. Lastly, the sole inhabitant of the ridiculously small area was not someone she should pop in on unannounced ever again, because in the two seconds that it took the auror to soak in her surroundings and reset her bearings, Harry Potter had taken his wand and pointed it square between her eyes._

"_Wotcher, Harry," Tonks said nervously, hands up in an unequivocal sign of surrender. He lowered the wand slightly but still eyed his intruder with suspicion._

"_Tell me something Tonks would know." She just rolled her eyes, saying something about 'bloody paranoid men these days' and quickly changed her nose to a pig snout and back. This seemed to be sufficient evidence for Harry, and he re-pocketed his wand and nodded his head. "So. What brings you here to my humble abode at," he glanced at his bedside table, "8 o'clock in the morning on a Saturday?" Tonks was about to insert her reply, until she saw the state that her companion was in. Harry was only dressed in a pair of athletic shorts, his hair was more disheveled than usual, his eyes visibly bloodshot, and his knuckles were swollen, bloodied, and black and blue in manner that looked excruciatingly painful._

"_What on earth happened to your hands??!" Harry grimaced; both at the shrill tone of voice Tonks had taken, as well as in pain when she grabbed his right arm to examine the damage. "Harry, this looks broken… what've you been doing?" He mumbled something indiscernible while nodding towards the wall behind him. Tonks glanced up in the same general direction and saw numerous dents, holes, and reddish-brown marks marring the white wall. Putting two and two together, the pink-haired auror made a clicking noise with her tongue that sounded of annoyance, motioned for Harry to sit on the edge of the bed, and un-holstered her wand to repair the damage. The mannerisms were so similar to that of Madam Pomfrey when the nurse bustled around her hospital wing, or of Hermione whenever she had to heal him, that Harry momentarily wondered if all women innately possessed this strange tendency to direct him around so brusquely whenever he had an injury._

"_Episkey… episkey." Harry flinched as his knuckles made a loud CRACK upon snapping back together. Turning to the wall, Tonks muttered 'reparo' and 'tergeo,' and the wall became, once again, pristine. Satisfied with her handiwork, she rounded on the seated teenager who was examining his hands with interest. Tonks tried, with difficulty, to not shout at his idiocy. Instead, she raised her eyebrow and asked as calmly as she could manage, "What the bloody hell were you thinking??"_

_Harry, rather than look bashful, merely shrugged and said, "I figured someone who could use magic would come by _eventually_, and they'd fix the wall then. It's not like the Dursleys were going to come up here and check up on me, were they?"_

"_The wall?? I'm not talking about the ruddy wall; I'm talking about your hands! Were you just going to sit around and wait for someone to fix your bleeding, broken hands… _eventually_?" The sarcasm dripping from the last word was not lost by either person in the room, and at least Harry had the good sense to look embarrassed._

"_I… I didn't exactly think that part through… I kind of just got mad and needed to hit something," he replied sheepishly. "Thanks for fixing it, by the way," he said motioning between his hands and the wall._

_Tonks just sighed, less angrily than before, "S'no problem, really." She paused, and then asked, "What's got you so cracked that you felt the need to act with no common sense, anyhow?" At that, Harry's eyes darkened, his mood very abruptly shifting._

"_I don't want to talk about it," he ground out, harshly. He looked up at her, "What're you doing here, anyway?"_

"_No need to get all pissy, Harry, I'm just here to check up on you," her original reason for coming, seemingly forgotten. This was quite clearly the absolute wrong thing to say to the young man who had all but exploded in rage at the thought of the Order of the bloody Phoenix meddling, once again. He didn't yell at Tonks however; he had long since come to the realization that very few people in the Order were actually the cause of his discomfort – the rest of them were just following instructions, and he couldn't, in good conscience, fault them for just doing their job. Or at least, he was trying his best not to do so; at the moment, he was fighting a losing battle._

"_As you can see, I'm fine, so you can report back to the Headmaster that his prisoner is behaving like a good little boy should."_

_Tonks' eyes narrowed at his tone of voice. Allowing for him to get away with minor things here and there because he was grieving was one thing, but she was a twenty-two year old, highly decorated auror for the ministry, and damned if she was going to take lip from, or be dismissed by, a schoolboy. "I don't know to whom you think you are speaking to right now, Harry," she started dangerously, "but if you ever take that tone of voice with me again, a few broken knuckles will be the least of your worries."_

_Harry closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, and took a few deep breaths to himself. He looked back up at her a few moments later and said, "Sorry for snapping at you; S'not your fault… any of it. You just kind of caught me at a bad time… and I'm still trying to work out everything that's been going on, and it's just so _hard_, and… well, I'm sorry," he was rambling for the most part, but the end of just stream of consciousness was spoken so earnestly that Tonks didn't really stay that mad for too long._

_She knew plenty to people with Harry's type of personality, especially in the corps, and thus, never took many things personally. They were brash, fueled by emotion, quick to act, and slow to deliberate; snappishness aside, they made good fighters and trustworthy partners in the field – it was the ones that took too long to make a decision, after all, that always seemed to come back unconscious, or worse. It was her experience with this type that allowed her to understand that Harry would not appreciate prying, so instead of badgering him to death, she simply asked, "D'you want to talk about it?"_

_He simply closed his eyes again and shook his head, giving a mirthless laugh. "Wouldn't even know where to begin anyhow." Tonks took the moment to really scrutinize the young man in front of her, the supposed hero of the wizarding world, the one that would save them all, and recently dubbed 'Chosen One.' He was still seated on the edge of his bed, legs dangling over the edge, leaning his weight onto the palms of his hands, which were planted behind him. The veins running through his forearms, just beneath the surface of his skin were clearly pronounced. Her eyes followed the large vein that ran vertically along the front of his bicep, which was well defined on his narrow frame, and curved and disappeared from sight near the crevice of his shoulder. His shoulders were still tensed for unknown reasons, and she briefly wondered if he would even know how to if someone asked him to relax. His chest, again defined, was smooth with the sparsest amount of hair present that would, no doubt, never change. His stomach was taut with a hint of muscular definition, but the lack of bulging muscles made the line of separation created by his hips more pronounced, as they ran along both sides of his body, disappearing into the waistband of his athletic shorts, creating a recognizable 'v' shape. All in all, Tonks had to admit that Harry Potter was an attractive young man who would one day in the near future become strikingly handsome. But then, there were the scars; they, by no means detracted from his features, but it would be a lie to say that one could look upon him and not notice their presence – there was just so many. Though she was no stranger to the occasional battle wound (one does not become an auror, after all, to simply sit behind a desk all day, away from danger), Tonks was perturbed to see that Harry possessed an alarming amount of scars for a fully-grown adult, let alone an almost 16-year-old teenager._

_Turning her gaze away, she carefully took in the contents of the rest of the room. Other than the trunk that she remembered him carrying in from the train station, the only other things in the room that could be identified as his were the stack parchment and the three books resting on the small desk in the corner of the room. Upon seeing the papers and broken wax seal and ribbon lying beside the pile, the full gravity of her poor timing finally dawned on her. She went to work just yesterday to find a similar looking parcel waiting for her at her desk with the widely recognizable Gringotts seal stamped bloodred in the center – Sirius' will. Whatever her late cousin wrote to Harry must've upset the poor teen greatly. At some point, Harry reopened his eyes and followed Tonks line of vision to the papers on his desk and stared on, glumly._

"_Oh, Harry," Tonks said softly while approaching him, hesitantly wrapping her arms around his shoulders – he just looked in desperate need of a hug at the moment. "Do you want to talk about it?" She asked for the second time that morning. He wretched himself sharply out of her embrace, realization suddenly dawning on him._

" _Oh my god, Tonks, I'm such an idiot, I didn't even realize… he was your _family_… I… I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have… I should've never gone…" his voice cracked, and he was unable to finish his sentence._

_Tonks narrowed her eyes at Harry, focusing an unflinching steely gaze directly into his eyes. "Harry Potter. Don't you dare say what I think you're about to say; if so much as even _think_ about blaming yourself, I will hex you so fast, so help me god." Harry opened his mouth to say something, presumably in protest, but quickly snapped his jaw shut, upon seeing the death glare Tonks was shooting in his direction. "You listen to me clearly, because I'm only going to say this once. Sirius' death was. Not. Your. Fault. The sooner you get that through your think skull, the better. No one forced him to go, and you certainly didn't shoot the hex that pushed him through, so you stop it this. instant." Tonks stated, resolute. Harry sat rigidly still for a brief amount of time before slowly nodding his head._

"_I know that. It's just that… everything was so hard already, and now with him gone… with him gone… well. I just wish he was still here," Harry stated somberly. "And now, I'm just SO _mad. All the time. _It's like I can't control it, this rage. Everything pisses me off. I hate _everything_ and I can't stop myself from feeling such…_ hate_. Tonks. I don't know what to do. I can't deal with this. I'm not strong enough for this." Tonks was taken aback by such an open admission of feeling from Harry, especially since he had a very long track record of bottling things up, but she told tell that there were things that he just needed to get off his chest – he was burdened by some much at such a young age. It was really quite unfair, Tonks thought, dolefully._

_The next hour consisted of Harry venting his frustrations to his companion, who, for her part, played the role of the listener masterfully. He unloaded everything that had been eating away at his conscience for the last few weeks, having no one really to talk to. His anger at himself for acting rashly, his anger at Sirius for leaving him all alone, his frustration with his supposed friends who had yet to write him this summer, his irritation with Albus Dumbledore for keeping so much from him… the list went on. In the end, Tonks felt as though she was one of the few that was privileged to see Harry as he truly was – not the hero that everyone built him up to be, but the somewhat lost soul who needed a friend to talk to. By the end of his tirade, Harry looked visibly tired, the bags under his eyes significantly more pronounced than before. His shoulders slumped in a dejected manner, his anger spent. The two just sat in comfortable silence for a while, both staring off into space, wrapped up in their own thoughts._

_Tonks finally broke the silence with her own opinions. "Harry, before Sirius died, he and I spoke often, and his favorite subject by far to talk about was you. The man loved you like his own son – anyone who heard the pride in his voice could tell. And he wouldn't want you to grieve and worry yourself on his behalf. He'd just want you to live, I'm sure of it." She glanced in his direction, making sure he was paying attention to her words. "Obviously, keeping all your thoughts to yourself is a bad idea – you know it and I know it. We all thought that it would be best for you if we just gave you a little bit of space to work things out on your own, but that was clearly a mistake, so here's what's going to happen. You need someone to talk to, and I'm willing to listen. So, how about whenever I'm on guard duty, and you need to talk about something, I'll happily lend my ear, whenever you need to holler."_

_Harry looked at Tonks with a mixture of shock and apprehension on his face. After a long pause, he hesitantly replied, "Yea... I think I'd like that." Tonks broke out into a large grin at this._

"_Excellent! Truthfully, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that. For a second, I was worried that you'd start down a bad path with all you've had to cope with." Harry gave her a quizzical look, to which Tonks replied, almost teasingly, "What? You think you're the first person ever to turn to drugs, sex, and alcohol to numb their emotions?"_

_Harry looked thunderstruck, so Tonks elaborated, "My shifts for guard duty are Saturdays… and Tuesday nights." Tonks smirked while Harry turned red, first from embarrassment and then from anger._

"_It was you! You were… you were spying on me!? How dare you – " Harry sputtered, indignantly._

"_Oh, calm down lover boy, you act like I've never seen that before. And, for your information, I was NOT _spying_ on you, I was doing my job, by making sure you weren't being accosted by Death Eaters at ungodly hours of the day. Lucky for you, the girl had more pleasant things in mind than inflicting pain on you, eh?" Tonks said with a grin, "Unless, of course, you're into that sort of thing." Harry replied only with a glare that would've made grown men fear for their lives._

"_All joking aside though, Harry, you're being… careful, right? I mean, you're, ah, protecting yourself? Not running around with a bunch of different lassies?"_

"_Tonks, how stupid do you think I am – of course I'm being careful," he snapped back at her. "And before you say anything, I'm not taking advantage of her, you know. _She _propositioned _me_. I'm being taken advantage of every bit as much as I'm taking advantage of her." Tonks merely raised her hands in submission._

"_Hey, I'm just asking for your sake, don't make me the bad guy here; I couldn't care less what kind of set-up you have going on, I just have to let you know that if it were any other Order member, you wouldn't be getting off so easily for sneaking out at odd hours of the night." Harry just grinned at this statement._

"_Maybe if it were any other Order member, 'cept Fletcher. Do you really think last Tuesday was my first time?" Tonks had to admit that the ease by which he climbed in and out of the window made her wonder how used to these situations he truly was. "All that man does when he's on duty is sleep – even in the middle of the bloody day! I can always tell when it's him because his snores could wake the living dead and he's not exactly the stealthiest of people. He's been bloody useful though, so I can't complain too much. Been able to run out to muggle London and buy myself new clothes, a bit of food, and cigarettes a few times under his 'watchful' eye," Harry admitted, though not looking the least bit ashamed. "Not to mention, I've been getting away with sneaking around a bit."_

_Tonks was unsure as to how she should respond to his admission. True, Harry leaving Privet Drive without anyone's knowledge was a blatant breach of security, and Albus would have his skin if he found out Dung's incompetence. Still though, nothing bad had happened to Harry, and in the end, that was the important thing, right? So, instead of berate Harry (after all, what would that really accomplish?), she simply changed the subject. "Anywayy. So, how do you know that girl? Megan, was it?"_

"_We went to grade school together. Haven't seen her in years really, and we were never friends even when I did see her on the regular. She was actually a brat as a kid. But ever since Petunia's been exploiting my manual labor for her benefit, I've had all sorts of propositions by old classmates around the neighborhood while I've been tending to their parents' gardens. Apparently, I'm the 'mysterious, criminal bad-boy of the neighborhood that girls want to get to know better,'" Harry explained, all the while, sporting the largest grin Tonks had ever seen plastered on his face. "And who am I to deny schoolgirls their fantasies? Plus, I think it's kind of ironic. Most of them fucked me over while we were kids, and now… well, let's just say now, the tables have turned." Tonks emitted a barking laugh at this. She was pleasantly surprised to find out that Harry actually had a pretty good sense of humor, once he got past the anger issues._

_The rest of that Saturday was spent with the two swapping light-hearted stories, ranging from their respective adventures at Hogwarts to their equally laughable love lives. While Tonks amused Harry with stories of her antics as a student, Harry shocked Tonks with tales of his multiple near-death experiences throughout his years in the castle. For the most part, they avoided heavier topics, with an unspoken understanding that there would be a time for such, just not that day. Neither was really ready to spill their hearts out about Sirius, anyway. Before either of the two knew it, the sun was beginning to draw low towards the horizon, and both realized that neither had eaten yet all day. Tonks apparated the two to the nearest restaurant – a pizza parlor – and the two split a pizza. Though the two didn't know it, this was the beginning of what would become a long running tradition the two would share, consisting of hours of earnest conversation held over pizza. Bringing Harry back to Privet Drive, Tonks said her goodbyes before running off to swap shifts with Moody. _

"_Wotcher, Harry. I'll see you next Tuesday. And do me a favor, if you could, try to limit your extracurricular activities to just when Dung is on duty. I like you, but I dunno if I can handle seeing your scrawny, bare arse in the moonlight one more time," and with that and a wink, she disapparated, leaving Harry with a mock-glare on his face._

July 23, 1996

Tonks ripped off the invisibility cloak once the muggle girl was out of sight and stormed towards Harry. "Harrison James Potter. I asked _one_ thing of you. _One, simple little task_. Are you trying to scar me for life, you oversexed maniac!?"

The young man in question simply cocked his head in her direction with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a look of amusement dancing in his eyes. Instead of addressing her line of questioning, he merely held out the box of cigarettes in his hand toward her, "Hullo, Tonks! Fancy seeing you tonight, care for a smoke?" She replied by smacking the box out of his hands and pointing her wand at his still bare chest. "No? Don't want a smoke?" Harry laughed.

"Oh, c'mon Tonksy, don't be like that, it wasn't my fault! I did what you asked, but she wanted to meet up tonight – it was just a goodbye shag! Her family's leaving for holiday tomorrow!" Shockingly, this didn't appease Tonks in the least, but at least she refrained from hexing him (though she was mildly tempted to just hex his bits right off then and there and be done with it), and instead, just poked him hard in the solarplex with her wand before putting it away into the pocket of her jeans.

"Oi! That kind of hurt!" Harry rubbed his chest, no longer looking amused.

"Serves you right, subjecting me to torture _again_. Just because I'm guarding your stupid arse doesn't mean I need to see it on a regular basis – you don't have to remind me; I know what it looks like by now."

"Hey, now, don't be sore. Least you've not swapped with Dung. If he were awake, I'd say he'd have to see it _far_ more often than you; six or seven times a week I'd say," Harry said cheekily. "And I'll have you know, my arse is _not_ stupid. I've been told it's rather cute."

Tonks rolled her eyes and made a noise of exasperation, "Oh for the love of god. Just pass me a cigarette, you berk."


	2. Chapter 2

The One Where Sirius' Will is Done and Harry Discovers Gendered Goblins 

July 6, 1996

Tipping point: the moment of critical mass; the threshold; the boiling point. Seldom, except in hindsight, do people get the chance to positively identify which tiny moments in their lives were to be credited for irrevocably changing everything thereafter. Harry Potter was no exception to this rule. If he were to look back upon his short life, he would be able to tell you which instances exactly were the tipping points that threw him sharply upon a different course of action: the night he was placed at the doorstep of the Dursleys… the moment he accepted the words of a giant stranger and believed magic to be a reality… the day his name leapt out from within the flames of a smoldering goblet. Yes, Harry Potter could you about all the points in his past that shook the foundations of his life, but even he couldn't know that the course of events of this, otherwise, average Saturday would soon be added to that list.

Anyone could tell just by looking at him that Harry Potter was in a foul mood. He had finally fallen asleep at 4 am that morning, only to be woken up three hours later by a barn owl, carrying what looked to be a rather hefty package. Said owl proceeded to peck at Harry's face until the young man acknowledged the ruddy bird's presence and relieved it of its burden; luckily, the Dursley's were out of town for the weekend to see Dudley's boxing tourney and, thus, weren't there to hear the loud squawking noises. The embossed blood red wax seal in the shape of a 'G' that stood out against the rather plain, brown paper caught Harry's attention and piqued his interest enough for him to momentarily forget about crawling back into bed; it was too hot in there to get a restful nap in, anyway. After tearing the seal and ribbon away and subsequently throwing it haphazardly on his desk, he unfurled the wrapping to find a stack of individually folded pieces of thick parchment on top of three rather ancient looking books. Warily opening the letter on top of the stack, Harry glanced at the first line of the paper and stopped breathing.

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_On behalf of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Diagon Ally Branch, we offer our sincerest condolences regarding the passing of one Sirius Orion Black III, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. At Gringotts, we pride ourselves on executing the wishes of our patrons to the fullest of our abilities. As the sole owner of the contents within Vault 711, the late Mister Black has lawfully and explicitly bequeathed fifty (50) percent of the assets of his aforementioned vault to you, one Mister Harrison James Potter. The attached parchment is a copy of the listed effects Mister Black has transferred unto you. If you wish to accept these holdings, we must receive a reply from you no later than noon on Monday, July 8, 1996; it is imperative that you contact one of our branches at your earliest convenience. Again, Mister Potter, you have our deepest condolences._

_Ad perpetuam rei memoriam_

_Best Regards,_

_Ragnuk XIV_

_Gringotts: Diagon Alley, Branch Manager_

His heart was pounding; the paper in his hands was crinkling, he was trembling so terribly. This made it all too _real_ for Harry. Again, the intense waves of anger and guilt washed over him in an attempt to consume his entire being. The edges around the parchment were smoking slightly, until, suddenly, it burst into flames in his palms. Harry quickly threw it on the ground to stamp out the fire. Strangely, this was not the first instance this summer of him performing emotion-fueled accidental magic; upon his return in the beginning of the summer, Vernon Dursley screamed at him one morning for not having breakfast prepared quickly enough; as Harry turned to face his uncle, the flowers adorning the centerpiece of the kitchen table exploded into flames before disintegrating into a fine, powdery pile of ash. He hadn't been yelled at since.

Shakily, he placed the first letter down and picked up the second one; it was a letter from Sirius. Harry hesitated. He didn't know if he wanted to read what it said just yet. All the same, the words on the parchment were in such a familiar elegant scrawl that his treacherous eyes, the same ones that were welling up with tears, began to scan the lines.

_Dear Harry,_

_ I am writing this with a heavy heart, for I know that when the time comes for you to read this, I will no longer be there to aid in your journey. I hoped for nothing more than to spend more time with you – to simply get to know you better, but I fear that our time together has been unjustly limited by forces beyond anyone's control. Read this letter carefully, Harry, because within this, I will try to tell you some things that I was never allowed to say to you in life._

_As I am composing this letter, members of the First Order of the Phoenix are congregating in the drawing room adjacent form mine. Though I am part of this group, tonight, I am being withheld from the meeting, frankly, due to my relationship with you. Presence aside, however, I am all too aware of the subject that is to be discussed. To be blunt, there is a prophecy, Harry, and though it is my hope that you will, by now, know the contents of it, I cannot rely on others to give away such knowledge, freely, regardless of how integral you may be to the issue at hand. I was never one for verbatim memorization, so I concede that I cannot regurgitate the precise wording of this prophecy, but its message is forever ingrained within me: it states that you, Harry James Potter, will be the one – the only one – who has the power to defeat the dark lord. I cannot begin to tell how much I loathe to admit this, but we all know that there is truth in these words. I have no deeper regret in my lifetime than my inability to protect you from this responsibility, Harry – no one should be charged with such a task, but, yet, down to the deepest recesses of my soul, I know you will succeed._

_The next piece of information that relates to you is something that I had a difficult time deciding on whether or not it is my place to tell you. In the end, I felt that, though perhaps I do not have the right to say this, you by all means have the right to know. Voldemort is conscious of part of the prophecy, though, he does not know the portion that declares that you are slated to be his conqueror; he merely received news concerning the first half, which told him that a child, born to those who trice defied him, would have the power to vanquish him. This is what caused him to seek your family out, Harry. This is what caused him to murder your parents – my best friends. You have the right to know, Harry, that Severus Snape was the man who provided this information to Voldemort. I am not giving you this information because of some petty schoolyard rivalry I shared with the man, Harry, so please do not misconstrue my intentions. I simply want you to know all the facts so you can make your decisions for yourself. It is true that I do not trust Snape – this is not a fact that I have _ever_ tried to hide. However, Dumbledore does place his faith in him, and he does so implicitly; and, though I often times do not agree with his methods, I have no reason to doubt that the Headmaster is a man of good intentions. So, Harry, take this information and do with it what you will – others may question whether or not you are mature enough to handle this knowledge, but I have never doubted your abilities. You are the son of James and Lily Potter; you have a good head on your shoulders. You are my godson; you are destined for greatness. And with my final actions, I will see to it that your path is as unobstructed as possible._

_The greatest piece of advice that I can offer to you is that you must keep your friends close, Harry. It is in your nature to shut your loved ones out, and, as you have experienced, it is a habit that does nothing but hurt all parties involved. The reality of war is that there are allies, and then there is everyone else. Sad as it may be, it is indubitably true – war is a vicious and powerful thing; it has the power to tear families apart. Don't let it happen to you, Harry. Expand your base of allies, and when you find those who are truly trustworthy, hold onto them for dear life, because your life may very well depend on them one day._

_Along with this letter, you should have received 5 very important items. The first is a copy of your birth certificate. You're a bright young man, so I will refrain from spelling out exactly why I am providing it, but keep in mind that there _is_ a reason that I have placed it in your possession. The next should be a few sheets of official Gringotts business parchment. The goblins only give this out to their most valued patrons, in part, because once you've signed your name at the bottom, a copy of the letter is sent directly to the desk of one of the top branch goblins of the bank. Goblins take whatever questions, remarks, or requests that are given to them via this method very seriously, so keep that in mind before you start composing._

_The last three objects are three books that I hope will be invaluable to you in both your quest, and, subsequently, in life. The time will come, Harry, when your battles will not only be fought in the field, but within the walls of the ministry as well – I daresay you've had your fill of such undertakings after your trial this past summer; unfortunately, that was but a mere glimpse of the political inner workings of the wizarding world. In order for you to survive and win, you must learn how to play the game. Politics is, by nature, a dirty sport, but to avoid being taken advantage of, sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. You are a beacon of hope for many, Harry, so whether you like it or not, you will be publically scrutinized, and once the world realizes the truth behind your claims, it will only get worse. Please, take the advice offered within these books to heart – I have included several annotations of my own to help you along. Finally, take care of yourself, Harry. As much as I love you, I have no desire to see you on the other side for many years to come._

_Farewell for now,_

_Sirius Orion Black, III_

For the first time since the start of the summer, Harry cried. Until now, he was simply too consumed by his anger to allow for his sadness to show through. But now… now, with Sirius' words and memory so _raw_ in his mind, he positively broke down. He sobbed until he couldn't breathe, and only then, when it was physically impossible for him to shed any more tears, did he stop. Ever the masochist, he read the letter again, hoping that he had simply misread it the first time around. No such luck. The words were the same. '_Severus Snape was the man who provided this information to Voldemort.'_

'_I'll kill him,' _Harry thought viciously. Coherent thought left his mind, and he knew nothing else except for the fact that he was trembling with rage, and if he didn't hit something _very soon_, he was likely to accidentally set his room on fire. So, like any irrational, temporarily emotionally imbalanced teenage boy, he turned around and drove his fist into the wall. In retrospect, it was perhaps not the best idea that Harry had ever had, and surely, if Sirius saw him now, he probably wouldn't have been as quick to assert that his godson was a 'bright boy.' The first hit impacted with a sickening _crunch_ of his hand, but he paid no heed to the searing pain that shot through his knuckles, into his wrist and forearm. It came second to the pain that was currently shooting through his chest.

So, instead of stopping, he merely reared back his left hand and drove it into the wall with similar, devastating speed. The second _crack_ did nothing to him in his current state of mind. However, the third time one of his fists collided with the wall, the pain was excruciating enough to force him to stop. Driving an already broken hand into a solid wall will do that to a person. He stood there for a second, hands in front of him, palms facing down, and stared at the disfigured pointer and ring fingers of his left hand. Both fists had begun to swell almost immediately, and while the right one looked like it was expanding at a more rapid pace, the left hand had a definitely larger gash across the top that was absolutely oozing coppery red blood. Harry could do nothing but examine his hands with interest.

From behind, Harry heard a subtle, almost inaudible pop of apparation. Relying solely on instinct, the next thing either person knew, his wand was pointed straight into the face of his would-be assailant.

"Wotcher, Harry," he was 99% sure that no one other than Tonks would submit such a greeting and show up wearing such clothes – really, where do they even sell shorts like that in the wizarding world? All the same, he showed that Mad-Eye's tutelage was at least leaving a lasting impression and asked the questions, appeased with the answer. He winced as she healed his battered hands, and internally did so again after he abruptly, unduly, snapped at her. _'You must keep your friends close… the reality of war is that there are allies, and then there is everyone else.'_ He felt downright awful after this realization, and even more so when he made the horrifying connection that Tonks was Sirius' _family_. Surely she was feeling just as torn up as he was – how selfish it was of him to think that he was hit hardest by his godfather's death. _'And what about Professor Lupin? That was his best friend.'_

In spite of himself, Harry found that he couldn't stop his mouth from telling Tonks things that he'd never mentioned to _anyone _before, not to Hermione, and certainly not to Ron. By mid-afternoon, Harry learned to appreciate Tonks in an entirely new light. He knew relatively little about her to before that day: she was Sirius' cousin, she was a damn good auror, she was pretty, and she was perpetually cheerful. After today, Harry was able to add an infinite amount of other descriptions to his list of Tonks-related attributes. Exciting. Easy to talk to. Brilliant. The list went on. But what struck him the most as possibly her best attribute was her inclination to treat him like an equal. The only times she acted as if Harry were a child were the instances during which he was, well, actually behaving like a child. He quickly learned to keep a better lid on his hair-trigger temper, lest Tonks threaten him at wand point again (few things were scarier to him than standing at the wrong end of the wand of a fully trained, highly competent witch with a murderous glint in her eye).

By the end of the day, Harry felt lighter than he had in months. He found himself feeling a bit of anticipation for the next time Tonks was on guard duty again, which, he rationalized, was simply due to the fact that she was the only person he had any contact with at all in the wizarding world in the past month that was even remotely his age. It was refreshing. _'And did she just leave, talking about my arse?'_ Harry shook his head, a small smile gracing his lips. Just one more thing he appreciated about her; she certainly had a sense of humor.

July 27, 1996

Almost a month had gone by since Harry received the package containing Sirius' effects. Though it took him until the last minute to do so, Harry eventually sent Gringotts a reply, stating that he would accept whatever Sirius had bequeathed unto him. Upon reading the ledger that the bank had provided – _Jesus Christ, Sirius, what _didn't _you have?_ – Harry also began to wonder about the state of the Potter holdings. Why hadn't he ever pondered about what his parents had left behind? He concluded that Sirius was right; when it came to the wizarding world as a whole, he knew next to nothing. Thus, when he read the titles of the books that were included in the original parcel, Harry's immeasurable appreciation of Sirius only grew; he also idly wondered how much Slytherin influence was truly indoctrinated into his supposedly Gryffindor godfather. No doubt straight out of the Black family library, _Of Integrity: History and Law of the Wizengamot, Lost Magick and Forgotten Ways,_ and _Appearance and Pedigree: A Complete Guide to the Etiquette and Customs for the Wizarding World's Purest_ were opened and meticulously read by Harry over the span of the past month. Though at times boring, Harry tirelessly read on; Sirius' numerous annotations in the margins of the books helped – sometimes lighthearted and witty, and other times providing additional, deadly useful information, Sirius' comments allowed for Harry to connect the dots and understand how to use a potential crippling front of the war that he had previously ignored.

With these three books packed away in to his trunk, Harry, in his mind, had officially ended his stay at Privet Drive, at least for another year. Today, he would finally be rescued from his prison, though, he had to admit, his experience in the last month and a half at the Drive really wasn't that awful, all things considered. Dudley left him alone, seemingly still uneasy, from the brief encounter with dementors last year; Vernon was more or less the same, though noticeable more twitchy around Harry after the breakfast incident; and Petunia was another story altogether. Arguably, she treated him worse than ever, but, strangely enough, fed him more food than he'd ever been given. His meal portions were only the slightest bit smaller than the two Dursley males' plates, and when Harry carefully broached the issue, Petunia stiffly remarked that she didn't want to hear from his _headmaster_ – she practically spat this word – any accusations of mistreatment. _'Besides_,' she added, _'you'll be doing a lot of work around the neighborhood this summer, and I don't want to hear you make excuses about being too tired or hungry to help!'_ Harry was certain that the truthful reason was had more to do with her way of thanking him for aiding Dudley, but he let the subject drop, not really needing an explanation, just happy to be eating a decent amount of food for a change.

And then there was the business of his extracurricular activities, which was an entirely separate matter, all together. Getting away with sneaking about with girls was an unprecedented occurrence in the life of Harry Potter, for certain. He didn't know who deserved his thanks more, Petunia for forcing him to do yard work for her friends, and, thus resulting in his ex-classmates lustful interest in him, or Fletcher for being utterly useless at guard detail, allowing for Harry to easily roam free once he found out the Order member's shift rotation. Harry came, jokingly, to the conclusion that if anyone deserved thanks, then perhaps it should be Megan's, or Jennifer's, or even Chelsea's respective parents for raising such attractive girls, and then, subsequently not paying very close attention to the girls' nighttime activities, whatsoever. They certainly did a fine job distracting Harry from his demons, and he, conversely never heard a word of complaint from any of the young women; far from it, actually, all demanded "parting gifts," in a manner of speaking. _'Thank you letters might be in order,' _Harry mused, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

He looked around his empty room once more, making sure nothing was forgotten, and, once satisfied, laid down on his bed, waiting for his minders to come and collect him. Tonks told him the previous Tuesday that he should be expecting them to arrive no later than by 11 am to pick him up. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was barely quarter past 10 am; so maybe he was a little more than anxious to leave. With extra time to kill, Harry let his mind wander, and, not for the first time, he recounted the events following his receipt of Sirius' will.

_July 15, 1996_

_ Standing in the lobby of Gringotts, Harry had to pause and look around in amazement – though he'd visited the bank quite a few times since, the novelty of one of the first buildings he'd ever been in upon discovering the wizarding world had yet to wear off. Looking around the white marble pillars and watching the goblins bustle around its patrons, he doubted that it ever would. It wasn't too terribly difficult for Harry to make the day trip to Diagon Alley, he simply got onto the Knight Bus while Fletcher took a kip underneath the birdbath. Wearing a plain white, short sleeved, fitted v-neck t-shirt, a dark pair of properly sized jeans, and a West Ham ball cap that pushed his hair over his scar, no one except his friends would be able to recognize him as the Boy-Who-Lived. Not paying attention to where he was going, instead looking up at the mural spanning the ceiling of the bank, he walked straight into another person – who made a startled noise of surprise –, knocking them both over, scattering the files that the other person was carrying._

_ "I'm so sorry!" Harry exclaimed, as he bent down to pick up the documents strewn across the floor. He quickly compiled the mess into a stack to hand to the woman he unwittingly assailed. "So, so sorry, Miss – Fleur??" Harry finally saw the figure in front of him and stared at her incredulously. Barring the look of incredible irritation marring the girl's face, she looked almost exactly the same as she did when Harry last saw her, over a year ago; she was still painfully beautiful, the only difference being that her features, having lost all traces of adolescence, were even more breathtaking now, in an aristocratic manner._

_ After a few moments of an appraising glance-over, her facial features transformed into a delighted smile upon recognition of the young man. "'Arry?! It is so good to see you!" punctuating her words with a bone-crushing hug. Shocked at the strength her deceptively willowy frame possessed, Harry had the wind slightly knocked out of him._

_ Once released form her embrace, Harry replied, "Hey Fleur, it's good to see you too – it's been so long!"_

_ "_Too_ long!" Fleur replied in agreement. "And you 'ave grown so much!" This was true. At the end of the Triwizard Tournament, Fleur was taller than Harry by quite a few centimeters. Now, he was easily the taller of the two, standing around 180 centimeters in height. It also helped that he no longer looked like a sickly child, likely to keel over at any given moment. So, really, changes all around._

_ Harry laughed, "Well, you didn't expect me to stay a 'leetle boy' forever, did you? And you've changed too, Fleur – you're even more beautiful than I remember."_

_ "Oh, merci, 'Arry. I see you 'ave become quite the charmer, too," she looked delighted at the fact. Brushing formalities aside, she playfully asked, "So, what brings you to Gingotts, today Monsieur Potter?"_

_ "I could ask you the same thing, Mademoiselle Delacour. But, since you asked first, I have an appointment, along with few other things to take care of," he responded, somewhat cryptically, "which reminds me, I have a meeting at 11:30, so I have to run if I don't want to be late."_

_ "Of course, 'Arry, I know how impatient these goblins can be, and to answer _your_ question, I work 'ere part-time to improve my Eenglish," she smiled, and then added, "I 'ave my lunch break in 'alf an 'our, 'Arry, you _must_ join me! We need to, how do you say, 'catch up' on things?" she said, unsure if she was using the turn of phrase correctly. Harry nodded assurance that she had used the right wording._

_ "Sure! Who am I to turn a pretty witch down for lunch?" he asked, an easy grin on his face. "I'll meet you back here in thirty, then; I don't think I'll be needing anymore time than that to meet with Ragnuk," Harry handed her back her stack of documents, long since forgotten, and walked towards the nearest teller. Fleur, for her part, was momentarily stunned. Harry was holding private audience with Ragnuk, branch manager and leader of the Goblin Nation? Fleur decided right then that there was much more to Harry Potter than met the eye, and she was curious, despite herself, to learn more._

_ Having followed a diminutive looking teller into a conference room, Harry sat down at one end of a long, mahogany table, Ragnuk waiting patiently at the other. After having spent a week looking over everything Sirius had left for him, Harry felt as though he had a good sense of what his godfather wanted him to do from there. So, using an official leaf of Gringotts parchment, Harry wrote the bank, requesting an audience with a goblin. He was mildly taken aback when he was told that he would be meeting with Ragnuk himself, though it only furthered his conviction in his endeavor. Neither occupant of the room had spoken yet, and the silence caused Harry's palms to begin to sweat. He cleared his throat in preparation, and took off his ball cap, remembering what he read about etiquette in certain situations._

_ "Mr. Potter," Ragnuk began, "What business can we at Gringotts attend to on your behalf today?"_

_ "Er, well, sir, um, my godfather, Sirius Black left some things to me in his will, and I was hoping to discuss some things I learned from it with you." Ragnuk gave a slight nod, so Harry saw fit to continue. "Uh, well, he included a copy of my birth certificate, and I couldn't figure out why that was necessary until I researched wizarding laws a little more. I was wondering, how Goblin Law and Wizarding Law work in conjunction with one another? Does one take priority over the other?"_

_ Ragnuk did not answer immediately, but rather, allowed for a pregnant pause before slowly saying, "Gringotts' goblins strive to work only in the best interest of their customers, Mr. Potter. While we are not restricted by wizarding law, per se, we follow it to the strictest letter, unless a circumstance arises in which it benefits our patrons for us to behave differently, or draw upon a different source of legitimate authority."_

_ Harry understood that the preceding statement was as close to an agreement to aid him as he was going to get, so Harry took a deep breathe and decided to just come outright and say it. "Under the laws of the Wizengamot, a wizard is considered a minor until his 17__th__ birthday, with two notable exceptions that can override this rule. The first being a person who has the status of an emancipated minor, and the second," Harry hesitated, "the second exception consists of wizards who have been granted full monetary rights and privileges as the Head of a Family under goblin jurisdiction, legally making him fiscally responsible for an entire family, and, thus exempting him from any rules that would otherwise bar a minor from taking actions."_

_ If Ragnuk was surprised, it did not show. Stoic as ever, "I see. Well, Mr. Potter, there are very few cases in which we take that course of action. Given your circumstance, as the last scion of the House of Potter, I see grounds for your request. However, without additional due cause, I, unfortunately do not believe that I will be able to grant you your wish… unless you have further evidence to support your case?"_

_ "I believe so, sir," Harry produced the copy of his birth certificate. It read, 'This certifies that Harrison James Potter, male, was born to Lily Evans Potter and James Cole Potter on Thursday at 1330 hours on this 31__st__ day of July 1980, at Yorkhill, a district in the city of Glasgow, Scotland.'_

_ "Muggles in Scotland reach the age of majority at 16. I was raised as a muggle and still go back to my muggle relative's residence over summer holidays. Therefore, in the wizarding world, I am still dictated by certain aspects of the muggle realm." Against, after a short pause, Ragnuk's face contorted into, what Harry believed to be, the closest thing a goblin could get to a smile. It was rather sinister looking._

_ "Mr. Potter, I believe that your case now has precedence. In fact, if I recall correctly, a clever young muggleborn by the name of Cresswell succeeded in doing something similar on the same basis less than a decade ago. Of course, he persuaded us most unusually, using goobledegook. Nonetheless, I daresay Gringotts will be able to grant you your full privileges as Head of the House of Potter upon your 16__th__ birthday, making you an adult in the eyes of the wizarding world." Harry's eyes widened. His meeting just went better than he could have ever imagined._

_ "Sir, I don't know how to thank you – " he was cut off._

_ "You could start, Mr. Potter, by simply addressing me as Ragnuk,"_

_ "Of course, Mr. Ragnuk, please, call me Harry."_

_ Ragnuk's left eyebrow twitched. "Very well, Harry. But you misunderstand me. I am not asking you to stop calling me that as a formality, I ask that you cease referring to me as 'sir' because I am very much so a female goblin." Harry turned bright red, all the while stuttering an apology. Ragnuk merely brushed it off._

_ "You are not the first, Young Potter, to make that mistake, and you will not be the last. Not many people realize that I am NOT, in fact, a male. However, because I am the only female employed at Gringotts, it is simply easier to allow for the misperception to continue."_

_ "I apologize, Ragnuk, I had no idea. I just assumed… because you were the executive…"_

"_Indeed, did you not wonder why you were granted audience with the branch manager of this entire establishment?" The sinister grin returned to Ragnuk's face. Harry had to remind himself that it was meant as a sign of good will and not hostility. "Many years ago, a young witch employed me as her personal account manager. In fact, she insisted upon it, threatening to take her, as well as her husband's, funds elsewhere if her request was denied. Together, they had a sizeable account, so it was no idle threat. Your mother was a remarkably kind witch, Harry, and I confess, I was curious to see what became of the sole heir of the woman to whom my entire career is indebted to." Harry's jaw dropped. _His_ mother launched the career of the leader of the goblin race? Moreover, the leader was a female? Why on earth was this not made public knowledge? Harry's mind was still reeling as the meeting drew to a close._

"_You can expect a letter from Gringotts before your 16__th__ birthday, Harry. It will simply require your signature, verifying that you understand the responsibilities that come with being the head of a household. Once you sign it and send it back, the ministry will also receive a copy. Then, you will be, for all intents and purposes, an adult in the eyes of wizarding law."_

"_Thank you again, Ragnuk. I am forever indebted to you for this."_

"_Nonsense. I owe the Potter clan a great personal debt, Harry, and a goblin never forgets. If, in the future, you find yourself in need of our assistance once more, the goblins will be there. Have a nice day, Harry Potter." And with that Ragnuk left._

_Harry's good mood was only further boosted that day when he remembered his lunch plans with Fleur Delacour. The two decided on a café that Harry recalled liking when he stayed in the alley during the summer of his third year. Harry noted that talking to Fleur was very much so like talking to Hermione, but decidedly nicer because they didn't have to discuss academia all the time. Conversation with her came as easy with her as it did with his best friend, and Harry mentally thanked whatever higher power was out there for making him impervious enough of the veela charm to stop him from turning into a mindless, stuttering mess._

"_By the way, did you know that Ragnuk isn't a _him_, so much as she's a _her_?" Fleur just looked at him for a second before bursting out into laughter, sure that he was lying. He joined her, but also stated, "no, I'm serious. She told me today – there I was, stuttering like an idiot, addressing her as 'sir' this and 'sir' that, until she told me that I could just call her by her name. So, I said, 'well, then, call me Harry.' After she told me the real reason why I should stop, I could've crawled into a hole and died of embarrassment. I basically left that meeting feeling like the biggest tool, ever." Harry laughed again thinking about it, and Fleur was clutching her sides from her inability to stop giggling._

"'_Arry, that is quite possibly ze funniest story I 'ave heard since I 'ave been here," she said, wiping a tear from her eye._

"_Well, I'm glad we can have a good laugh at my expense," he replied, chuckling. _

"_So, 'Arry," Fleur started, after the laughter at Harry's ineptitude died down, "what business were you attending to that required the presence of Ragnuk… 'erself?"_

_Harry grinned widely. "Well, I was there to talk about some things concerning wizarding and goblin laws. I probably shouldn't go into detail, but since my birthday is right around the bend, I guess it doesn't hurt to tell you. I was contesting the age restriction for my Head of House status." Fleur seemed confused, so he elaborated. "As a head of my house, I would be recognized as an adult, but more importantly, I would bypass the decree for restriction for underage magic."_

"_But why not simply wait anuzzer year?"_

"_Because I need to train," he said, plainly. It was a half-truth that Harry didn't mind telling to his friend. That put a damper on the mood almost immediately; they both knew what he needed to train for. Fleur had believed Harry about Voldemort's resurrection the night she saw him come back with Cedric's body. However, now that the entire wizarding world was ready to admit the fact, the prospect of darker days became a reality. Though there was no way for her to know the full extent to which Harry would be involved, the press was abuzz with rumors concerning just that. Because Harry was out of touch with everything magical over the summer, Fleur filled Harry in on the details of the summer at the beginning of their lunch date._

_Before, labeled as a stark-raving lunatic, his words weren't to be trusted. Now, he was, once again, the savior of the world. Not only did the Daily Prophet paint him in a glowing light, they had taken to calling him "The Chosen One," after the events of the Department of Mysteries fiasco were leaked, along with the rumor that he dueled Voldemort, only to survive once more._

"_And do you know what zey are saying about Monsieur Ollivander's disappearance, 'Arry?" He shook his head, having only just heard about the incident from Fleur earlier that afternoon. "Zere are whispers of foul play and possibly Death Eaters involved," Fleur said in a lower voice, shuddering slightly at the thought. What could Voldemort possibly want with a poor old man?_

_As lunchtime drew to an end, Harry made a motion to pay for the both of them, which Fleur politely refused, motioning that she would pay for her half. "Non, 'Arry, zank you, but you do not have to – "_

"_But I _want_ to Fleur," he said, cutting her off. "Just let me take care of this; think of it as a thank you for providing me with such pleasant company," he gave a lop-sided grin while Fleur blushed prettily, and Harry knew she had acquiesced._

"_Fine, but zis only means zat we will 'ave to do zis again, and next time, it will be _my_ turn to pay."_

"_Sounds like a plan to me." The two left, and Harry walked with Fleur back to Gringotts before heading to the Leaky Cauldron himself. She gave him a warm hug and kissed both cheeks in her usual manner, asking him to owl her when he got the chance._

"_Will do. Where are you staying at, anyway?" Fleur blushed in a way that Harry had never seen before, and he immediately knew he'd want to hear the answer to this question._

_ "At ze moment," she started, "I am staying wiz Bill Weasley." Harry didn't even try to hold back his guffaw, recalling her looks of interest in his direction before the Third Task._

_ "I see… got a thing for older men with fanged earrings, then, huh?" Harry waggled his eyebrows. Fleur replied by smacking his arm._

_ "It iz not like that," she replied indignantly, "I simply needed a place to stay, and he 'ad an extra room. We 'ardly even see each other; besides, most of ze time, 'e is in Egypt!"_

_ Harry put his hands up to placate the girl, "Hey, I'm not judging, don't worry, I was just kidding around; whatever you do behind closed doors, Fleur, is none of my business."_

_ "Nothing is going on 'behind closed doors,' 'Arry. I truly am simply staying zere out of convenience." Her demeanor was mildly alarming to Harry, who put a hand on her arm._

_ "I believe you, Fleur. Sorry for insinuating all that. I really was just joking."_

_ "It is ok, 'Arry, I know zat you were only joking. Ze problem is that not many uzzer people would think it such a joking matter; not everyone is as understanding as you are, 'Arry. My family is _very_ old-fashioned, and so are many uzzers. And because I am part veela, the prejudice is even worse. I know it is improper for me to stay wiz him, but I do not 'ave many choices in the matter. Besides, it is a nice apartment, wiz much additional security, and Bill is a good flatmate; except for the parade of girls that he insists on bringing in." She added the last part with a look of disgust that made Harry laugh. He quieted himself, and looked pensive for a second._

_ He looked at her and said, "What if I knew of somewhere else that you could stay at? Would you move if you had the chance?" Fleur looked skeptical._

_ "'Arry, apartments that are warded wiz the right kinds of protections are absurdly expensive, especially now wiz – " Harry stopped her._

_ "Don't worry about that part, just answer the question. If you could move to another location to dispel the rumors and that was equally, if not more so, protected, would you?" Fleur simply nodded. "Excellent! We'll definitely be in touch then – expect and owl from me soon!" He tipped his cap at her and gave a mock bow, causing Fleur to giggle._

_ Watching Harry walk away jauntily, whistling a tune, Fleur couldn't help but wonder what on earth her friend was on about. She shook her head and walked up the marble steps of the famous bank, making a mental note to write Gabby as soon as she could. Her little sister would be so jealous that Fleur had lunch with her childhood crush._

July 27, 1996

Shouting that he'd grown accustomed to hearing cut through the silence from downstairs, bringing him back to reality. Harry immediately knew that his rescuers had arrived. He crept out of his room, wand in hand. Expected visitors or not, Harry felt that he could never be too careful.

"Dursley, you great oaf, we're here to take him with us, so quit your yelling," growled someone. _'Must be Mad-Eye,'_ Harry thought to himself.

"I'll not have _your kind_ parading around my front lawn, _where people can see you_," Vernon seethed, as if being seen were a crime akin to high treason.

"Vernon," a voice reasoned – _Remus_ – "we're not leaving through the front door, we'll be using the fireplace. Now, the sooner we can collect Harry, the sooner we can leave you be, so I suggest you stand aside and let us in, because the longer you blockade the door, the more you run the risk of your neighbors seeing _our kind_." Vernon merely muttered something foul under his breath and let them in before stalking off into the kitchen, where his wife and son were currently hiding, too frightened to greet the visitors. As Harry had already said as much of a goodbye as he would ever give to the Dursleys earlier that morning, it was just as well.

As various members of the Order filed, Harry took a quick head count, trying to identify the faces. Luckily for Vernon, it was only Lupin, Mad-Eye, and Tonks, instead of the entire entourage from last summer. Harry made himself known by clearing his throat; all other occupants whipped around to see him standing at the base of the stairwell, wand at the ready.

"What do we call your monthly activities?" Harry asked Lupin, as he was standing in closest proximity to him.

Remus chuckled, "You mean my 'furry little problem'?" he offered.

Turning to Moody, he asked, "Why shouldn't I keep my wand in my back pocket?"

"Because you don't want to go around blasting your buttock off, do ya, laddie?"

Before Harry could even ask Tonks a question, she interjected, "pepperoni pizza and marshmallow fluff." Harry grinned, lowering his wand. Suddenly, he was pulled into a vice-grip-like hug, blond hair with the occasional pink streak obscuring his vision.

"Wotcher, Tonks!" he said as he returned her hug.

"Hullo, Harry!" she kissed his cheek and grinned at their reversed greetings before letting him go. Remus raised an eyebrow at the exchange before pulling Harry into a hug himself.

"What? No enthusiastic hug for me?" Lupin asked teasingly.

Harry took a step backwards and cocked his head to the side. "You expecting a kiss on the cheek, too?" Both men laughed. "It's good to see you, Professor Lupin – er, Lupin, I mean, just Lupin." Remus just shook his head, knowing that the habit of calling him professor was a hard one to break.

Harry turned to Mad-Eye, who gave him a firm handshake and a rough clap to the shoulder. "That was a smart move there, Potter, but next time remember, don't draw attention to yourself until you have to; you don't want to be giving away your location so quickly. And think of better questions next time! Half the world knows how I feel about poorly thought out wand placement!" Leave it to Moody to critique such trivialities.

"So, where're we headed to?" The only two options, really, were the Burrow or Grimmauld Place, but Harry assumed that they would place him at the former location, what with the latter becoming almost exclusively inhabited by members of the Order. So, he was more than a little caught off guard when they told him he was indeed headed to his godfather's ancestral home. A feeling of dread welled up in the pit of his stomach. He never really entertained the notion that he'd have to go back to Sirius' home. Tonks, seeing the apprehension in Harry's eyes offered words of comfort.

"It's nothing like what you remembered it, Harry. Since Dumbledore inherited it, he's enlisted Hogwarts elves to help clean the place up a bit. I don't think it's ever been as bright – sunshine actually comes in through the windows now!" her words quelled his feelings of foreboding, if only for the moment.

"The floo connection will only be open for fifteen minutes, beginning at 11:30 which is," Remus glanced at his wrist, "in three minutes."

"I'll go first to make sure the other side is secure, then you'll follow me, and Tonks will flank the rear. Lupin'll fix the floo, apparate, and meet us there with your trunk," Moody, ever the strategist, explained. With that, he readied the Dursley's fireplace by removing the boards and pulling a bag of floo powder out from the inside of his sleeve.

"How do I always end up stuck with the job of guarding your arse, Harrison James?" Tonks asked, only loud enough for him to hear.

"Dunno, _Nymphadora_, some people just get all the luck, I s'pose," Harry grinned, "complain all you want, but you secretly love it."

Tonks rolled her eyes and shoved him for good measure.

Moody looked up from the fireplace, "Alright sonny, follow close behind me now. Phoenix Nest," and with a roar of green flames he was gone. Harry followed suit, woefully unprepared for what was on the other side. Tumbling out of the fireplace, Harry landed in his usual fashion – unceremoniously tossed to the ground. Tonks strolled out of the fireplace soon after, saw Harry on the ground and burst out into laughter. She helped him up, not saying anything, but the mirth dancing in her eyes – violet colored today – promised that she was going to keep the image of a tripped up, soot covered Harry locked away for future reference and teasing.


	3. Chapter 3

The One in Which Snape Sidesteps Death and Harry Has a Happy Birthday (Sort of)

July 27, 1996

Tonks and Moody left to check in with Headmaster Dumbledore, with Tonks promising to return later, per their usual Saturday plans.

Harry looked around the kitchen, finding it completely unrecognizable. He thought he would feel relieved at that fact, but found, instead, that he was a bit upset that nothing looked the same. Not only had the house elves cleaned, but they had remodeled, too, replacing the old wooden cupboards with new ones, changing the kitchen countertops entirely; at least the large wooden table that spanned the middle of the room remained the same. He shook his head such thoughts, knowing that Sirius wouldn't want him to dwell. Instead, he tried to appreciate the new additions, admitting that his godfather would much prefer the changes if he were there to choose. "Wonder who all's here," he queried to nobody in particular.

His question was answered a split second later. "HARRY!" Hermione bounded towards her best friend and engulfed him in a fervent hug. Harry reciprocated, though not sharing in the same level of enthusiasm. Make no mistake, he was undoubtedly overjoyed to be able to see his best friends again, but he couldn't help but to hold onto some resentment. They were free to see one another for the whole summer while he (somewhat) obediently remained at his Aunt's house; the least any one of them could have done was send a letter or two his way at some point. Between the three newcomers to the room, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, not one letter of correspondence could be seen. Still, reunions were neither the time nor the place to discuss these thoughts. Instead, Harry swallowed his feelings of ire for the moment and greeted his closest friends.

"Hey, Hermione!" Harry replied, releasing her in order to address the other two. He accepted Ron's one-armed hug, taking note of their contrasting heights. "Blimey, Ron, have you _grown_ some more?" The red-haired boy in question was now towering over his other friends, 190 centimeters tall, though still as lanky as before, arguably more so now. Ron just shrugged.

"S'pose so," he offered, smiling sheepishly.

"Well what'd you expect, with all the food he eats, it has to go _somewhere_," Ginny said exasperatedly, as she appeared at her brother's side, also giving Harry a quick hug. Her brave words and actions didn't match her body language, however, and had he'd paid more attention, Harry would've seen a distinct blush spread across the youngest Weasley's cheeks, for reasons that were currently, unwittingly, being explained by Hermione.

"He's not the only one, Harry, you've grown, too! Oh, now I can't look at either one of you in the eye without having to crane my neck up," she playfully stated. She continued to survey him critically, grabbing his left upper-arm. "And have you been working out, Harry??" she asked, unaware of how uncomfortable Harry was becoming under her scrutiny.

"Not really… just been doing some yard work and such," he mumbled, a pink tinge gracing his facial features. In truth, Harry didn't do much exercising just for the sake of it. He ran sprints sometimes when he was feeling too emotional to do much else, and the activity seemed to do the job of spending his anger. Recently, within the last two or three days, Harry had begun to do push-ups and sit-ups to let out the excess, pent up energy he had, due to the fact that he had ceased his, much more satisfying, nighttime activities (letting the girls know that he would no longer be around for the summer). But overall, it was the nature of his lifestyle and much needed additional food rations that made him look healthier than he'd ever looked before.

He quickly tried to change the subject. "You got a haircut!" he pointed out. Whereas before, her brown hair reached down to the middle of her back, it was now resting tamely, tips brushing her shoulders. "It looks good on you," he added. Now it was her turn to blush.

"Thanks. I've been here for days and you're the first to notice," she told him, looking pointedly at Ron.

"Hey! I noticed… just didn't think there was a need to mention it, is all," Ron said defensively, but not convincingly. Ginny just shook her head at her brother, resisting the urge to smack him the back of his head. "Anyway, glad you're here, mate! Summer's been a right bore without you; Mum's been driving me _mad_ now that Fred and George are gone all the time, though things _have_ been looking up these last few days."

"Yea, I can imagine that things got better once Hermione got here," Harry replied, leaving it unsaid that it must've been nice to be in the company of your best friend every once and a while.

"What? Oh, yea, Hermione's alright, too, but, she's not what I'm talking about. You'll never believe who just joined the Order, Harry – _Fleur Delacour,_" Ron said, with added emphasis on the name, as if he were uttering words of the holiest nature. "You remember her right, mate, from the Triwizard Tournament? Blond hair, nice legs, _spectacular b – _" Ginny interrupted him with a firm _whack_ to the back of the head, not even trying to stop herself this time around. "Ow! What's your problem, Ginny?!"

"You're in mixed company, Ronald Weasley, you watch your mouth!" Be that as it may, Harry also noticed that Hermione looked decidedly more irked than she was a minute before. If Harry hadn't found the situation so unbelievable, he would have laughed at the antics. However, the reality of one of his best friends _liking_ the other in _that_ way was hardly humorous to him, though rather perplexing, especially when the boy in question happened to be Ron, who, while a great friend, would almost assuredly be a disaster of a boyfriend given his current level of maturity. Case in point, the conversation in progress that Harry was partially toning out, in which Ron was busy outlining the plethora of positive attributes Miss Delacour possessed, all the while oblivious to Ginny's murderous glares, Harry's inattentiveness, and Hermione's abrupt departure.

After keeping idle conversation with Ron for a bit longer, Harry finally had enough, making up an excuse about unpacking, and left to find Hermione. Ron was appeased, telling him to come back down in a few, as they were expecting Mrs. Weasley to arrive to make lunch, shortly. As Harry made his way to through the house, how much it had changed continued to surprise him. Tonks wasn't lying when she told him that everything seemed brighter. Even the once dingy walls seemed to let off their own glow; begrudgingly, Harry had to admit that this version of Grimmauld Place was infinitely better than what it once was. He sighed as he reached Hermione's room, knocking on the door, pausing, and then letting himself in.

Harry could only remember a handful of times during their entire friendship in which he had seen Hermione Granger cry. The first time, the presence of a troll was the more pressing issue, making the tears ancillary issue. However, walking into the room and seeing her lying across her bed, sobbing, was hard to ignore, and wholeheartedly unnerving to Harry.

She looked up, and upon realizing that the intruder was just Harry, promptly turned back around with a muffled, "Go away, Harry." He was sorely tempted to do just that, but thought better of it at the last second. Instead, he approached her bedside, taking a seat next to her sniffling form. At the shift of weight on the bed, Hermione turned to him, "I told you to go away, Harry!"

"No," he said calmly, sounding noticeably more resolute than he felt. The conviction in his tone surprised Hermione enough to briefly quell her tears. The two sat in silence, each waiting for the other to start speaking. Finally, it was Harry who broke the silence, though, somewhat tactlessly, he asked, "So, you like Ron, huh?" Her eyes filled with tears once more. It was a dumb question on his part, and clearly redundant, considering he already knew the answer.

"Did you come here to make me feel stupid, Harry? Because mission accomplished, if you did – and what does it matter to you whether I like him or not?!" Her voice was shrill.

Harry looked at her woefully with a slightly hurt look upon his face. "Hermione. I would never try to make you feel stupid," he replied plainly. At this, Hermione just put her face in her hands.

"Well, you're the only one _not _trying, it seems, because, lately, Ron does nothing but make me feel stupid all the time."

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Hermione," he asked, hesitating, "can I ask, _why_ you like him… I mean, what about Ron makes you want to date him?" She tensed at the question.

"I… I… Well, I don't really know, it just seemed to make sense! I mean, he was always so jealous whenever I talked about Viktor, or about any boy, really, so I thought he might've liked me… and now, all I am is miserable around him because I can't figure out what I want, and he doesn't make anything easier, _pining_ over that, that," she choked back a sob, unable to finish her sentence. Harry moved his hand to pat her on the back, albeit, awkwardly, and allowed for her to lean the side of her head on his shoulder. He really needed to get better at this consoling people thing.

"You deserve better than that, Hermione. You're too pretty to – " she snorted derisively, cutting him off.

"Oh, come off it; you don't have to lie to me. I know how people see me: mousy, bookworm, 'always the smart one, but not quite the looker'… I don't delude myself, Harry." Ah, therein lies the root of the problem. He found it a bit odd that she was so upset over a seemingly trivial slight, but things were becoming vastly clearer; she was more upset than usual because of to the deep seated insecurities that were being exposed.

"Hermione, I wouldn't lie to you, I think you're very pretty," and he wasn't lying; she had, in fact, grown steadily more attractive over the last few years, almost under the radar, so to speak. Regardless, she didn't look convinced. "Look, your one of my best friends, Hermione, I would never lie to you, if I could help it. You really are very pretty – beautiful even!"

She sniffled. "Thanks, Harry." Silence lapsed once more.

"I trust your judgment on the matter, Hermione, so if you tell me you really do like him, then I believe you. But, don't settle on it because 'it just seemed to make sense.' You could do much better than a boy that does nothing but make you cry." Hermione looked up at him, a curious look on her face, as if she were evaluating him in a new light. "Ron's my best friend, Hermione, but even I can admit that he's got a lot of growing up to do."

She looked rather shocked at Harry's open admission, not used to her friend speaking so candidly. It took her a moment to respond. "I guess I'm so used to being the plain one that I kind of liked the idea of having someone think of me in that way. It seems a little silly now, even the thought of Ron and I dating – can you _imagine_ the fights?" Harry grinned; he could, and they were disasters in the making. A small smile graced her lips as she continued. "You must think me so foolish, chasing some delusion my mind created to make me feel better about myself."

"Foolish? Hardly. I don't think you made it up; I'd actually wager a lot of money on the fact that Ron really does have feelings for you."

"But you just said – "

"But," he said, over her protest, "he probably doesn't realize it, and I think you and I would both agree that he wouldn't know how to handle his feelings if they walked up and kicked him in the arse. You said it best, right: emotional range of a teaspoon?" Hermione laughed.

"Do you really think I could do better, Harry?" the uncertainty in her voice rang through.

"Hermione, I think you could be with anyone you wanted," he replied honestly. She hugged him with such force that he became worried about circulation getting to his extremities.

"Oh, Harry. You're sweet. When did you grow up? How could I have missed it??" Harry thought to himself that being told that you were singlehandedly either going to be the savior or the ruination of an entire society directly following a death close to the heart was probably adequate trigger for such, but didn't think it was a good time to bring up such a snarky remark.

"We all have to grow up sometime, right? You must've gotten tired of being the only rational one of our bunch," he answered, eliciting a giggle. "Joking aside though, thank you for that, Hermione. For being the smart one, I mean. For being smart enough for all of us when maybe Ron and I weren't." Hermione just gripped him tighter.

"Well, I couldn't very well have you guys running off and dying on me, could I? A girl gets used to having you around." He felt her smile against his chest before she released him. Looking up she inquired, "What am I to you, Harry?" He looked taken aback, unsure of how to answer. Luckily, she elaborated, "I mean, how do you see me; am I your friend who helps you get out of tight spots, the person you go off onto adventures with, just one of the trio…?"

He looked at her, then said slowly, "Well, I guess… I guess you're all those things, really. All those things and more; I never really gave it too much thought, but I suppose you're the closest thing I've got to a sister, aren't you? I mean, Ron's my best friend, but he's got this whole family aspect that I don't have… and I guess, on some level, 'cos we're both from the muggle world, and most of the time, when we're here, we haven't got anyone else… I guess you're the sister I've always wanted," he ended, rather lamely. She beamed at him, yanking him into a hug once more. Invisible to the naked eye, the dynamic of their friendship changed forever in that moment.

"Oh, Harry. You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that. I've never had a brother before; I've always wanted a sibling! Practically begged my mum for a younger sister when I was 8, but she nearly had a conniption at the thought of it," she rambled.

"It's no worries, Hermione. You can count me as your brother until you get tired of me," he said, smiling, "or at least until you find another one that you like better, maybe someone with better hair? I'd be a bit put off if you replace me with someone that has more of an unmanageable mop than me."

"Not likely to happen, Potter."

"Glad to hear it, Granger. To think, I'd originally intended on coming in here to yell at you; now I don't really see the point."

Hermione looked at him, aghast, "Yell at me? What for?" Harry waved it off.

"It doesn't matter now, Hermione, I'm over it. I was a little agitated because you guys didn't really write me this summer, but it doesn't even really matter anymore, does it?"

She looked ashamed. "I was going to write you, Harry, honestly, I was, but when I sat down with a quill, I didn't know what to say. You were just so mad at everything at the end of last term, I wasn't sure what I could say to make you feel better," she glanced over to him, "I really am sorry. It's a poor excuse."

"S'alright, 'Mione. I don't hold it against you." Harry looked pensive for a moment. "I kind of sucked last year, didn't I," he asked abruptly, laughing. Hermione joined him.

"You said it, not me," was her reply. He shook his head before standing up to leave.

"How about we make a deal; next time I act like a whiny little prat, I give you permission to hex me into oblivion," he grinned, "and the next time you want to talk about something, anything, just come find me."

She gave him a blindingly bright smile and answered softly, "deal."

After leaving Hermione's room, he paced down the hall, only to realize that he had no idea where Remus had put his trunk. Coincidentally, and luckily, for him, as he made his way to the third floor to find the man, Lupin was walking towards him from the opposite direction.

"Ah, Harry, just the man I was looking for. Sorry I didn't come find you straight away, I had some things to attend to first," said Remus, upon spotting him. "No matter, your trunk is up here for the time being, but only because I wanted to ask you where you wanted to stay before I moved it," he hesitated. "Sirius' room is unoccupied; we were saving it for you." A strange look passed across Harry's face, one that Remus interpreted as negative. "But, if you wanted, there's that extra bed that you could have in the room that Ron's staying in, just like last year," he added, hastily.

Harry thought for a moment. True, there was a lot of baggage that could potentially come with staying in Sirius' old room, but, at the same time, if he wasn't prepared to even see the space, how on earth was he ever going to move beyond the myriad of emotions and demons he'd have to conquer. "Can we go see it?" Lupin looked surprise at the request, but of course, led Harry to the room in question. It was on the uppermost level of the house, with a door directly across from it displaying a plaque, 'Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black'. Harry braced himself as he stepped beyond the threshold, not knowing what to expect.

The room was expansive in size, with an, almost absurdly, large comfortable looking bed on the one end, and a fireplace with 2 worn, cozy looking seats and a coffee table in front of it on the other, complete with a covered up portrait hanging up above the mantle. There was a large space in between the two extremes, enough more a good 20 paces or so, but what drew Harry's attention was the desk and dresser that were on opposing walls, facing one another. Both had Sirius' belongings still haphazardly thrown about them, as if he'd hastily made a departure and would be back any day now. Questionable posters decorated some of the wall space, and, on the whole, it strongly reminded him of a mix between his dormitory and the Gryffindor common room. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I think that Sirius would've rather someone stay in here than leave it empty, don't you?" Remus asked, interrupting Harry's thoughts. He continued to examine the room. Like a double-edged sword, standing there made him feel as though his chest was being constricted, yet, at the same time, he felt an odd sensation of comfort, knowing that this was the only room that had been left unchanged in light of the new renovations of number 12 Grimmauld Place. Which feeling was stronger, he couldn't be sure, but, in the end, he'd come to his decision.

"I think I'll move my trunk in here, if it's alright with you, Professor Lupin?" Remus smiled, internally relieved.

"Of course, Harry. But good lord, call me Remus if you can't say 'Lupin' without putting the word 'professor' in front of it," with that, he left to retrieve the missing trunk.

Harry's stomach growled, making him realize that not only had he not eaten yet, he'd probably missed lunch by now. He made his way down the flights of stairs, in hopes that he would find leftovers in the kitchen. Turning the sharp corner that led towards the swinging door of the kitchen, in his haste, he slammed, headlong into another person, sending whatever was in their hand a moment ago, crashing to the ground, along with the two of them.

"Well this is familiar," Harry said mainly to himself. He really needed to stop running people over. He looked him to see who he'd assailed this time around, and saw that it was Tonks, who looked no worse for the wear, considering she was fairly used to ending up on the ground, thanks to her propensity to trip over the tiniest of obstacles in her way.

"Harry! Oh, I hope it's not ruined!" He looked over in the direction she was pointing in and saw the box of pizza that she was previously carrying had landed a meter or so away. The aroma of the food finally wafted over to his nostrils, and his mouth watered at the thought of biting into a slice. Luckily for Harry's rumbling stomach, the box landed in the closed position.

"Tonks, you brought pizza? Oh my god, I'm so happy right now, I could kiss you," he said as he helped her to her feet.

She scrunched up her face in mock disgust, "Oh, please don't, I don't know where that mouth has been. Well, actually, on second thought, I know _exactly_ where that mouth has been, which is kind of even worse." He laughed as he picked up the box. "Being a bit presumptuous, aren't we, Potter? Who said I was bringing that to share with you?" She joked.

"Isn't it obvious, Tonksy? We do this every Saturday – you wouldn't _dream _of skipping out on me now just because it's a change of venue, would you?" It was a bluff on his part. He was actually a little apprehensive of the idea that perhaps she no longer wanted to spend parts of her Saturday with him. She was, after all, no longer committed to guard duty.

Unbeknownst to him, Tonks felt a tiny bit of relief at his teasing statement. She'd grown quite fond of the chats that she had with the young man in front of her, and she was unsure of how dynamics would change once he was reunited with his school friends.

She threw him a grin. "Course not. Someone's got to feed you, right? Where do ya want to go? Drawing room?" she queried, pointing to the room adjacent to the kitchen.

"Drawing room it is," he affirmed. Conversation flowed with its usual ease between the two of them, both currently sitting on opposite ends of the couch, legs crisscrossing one another. As Harry finished the last of his third slice, a random question came into his mind.

"When's your birthday, Tonks?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, "June fifteenth. Why?"

"So you _just_ turned, what, twenty something?"

"Harry, if this is your subtle way of asking a girl how old she is, you have all the finesse of a rampaging hippogriff," she laughed, "But yes, I just turned twenty-two. Any particular reason for this line of questioning?"

"Well yea, now I know I owe you a present," he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh, please, you don't have to get me anything."

"Sure I do. And don't you worry your pretty little head off about it, I have just the thing."

"I mean, if you _insist_… just remember, my favorite color's yellow," she joked.

"Course it is; you're such a Hufflepuff," he laughed as she threw a couch pillow at him. He jumped up to dodge it, but failed pitifully. He threw it back in retaliation, and before he knew it, he'd just instigated a full-blown pillow fight. Childish as it was, he couldn't remember the last time he was this close to being carefree. Impish glint in his eye, he swatted the pillow out of her hands and proceeded to tackle her to the ground; she let out a girlish, _very_ un-Tonks-like, squeal.

"_You're ticklish?_" he asked delightedly. His glee was short-lived, however, as she successfully shifted her bodyweight and flipped them over, gaining the upper hand. In two quick motions, she'd all but immobilized him.

"Whoa! Ok, Ok, I give; uncle!" She slackened the grip on his arms with a smug grin on her face. "Holy hell, woman." Had Harry not been so focused on the surprisingly successful counterattack on Tonks' part, he would have realized how compromising the position the two of them were currently in – he, flat on his back, and, she, straddling his waist with his wrists pinned to the ground. Tonks however, seemingly, all of the sudden, became extraordinarily conscious of what their positions implied and let go of his hands as if she'd been burned.

"I _really_ don't like to be tickled," she said, hoping that her blush would go unnoticed while hopping off of him, and then helping him to his feet.

"Duly noted," he answered dryly. "Are you that good with all hand-to-hand combat? Or do you just these moves for when you get tickled?"

"Eh, I'm get by. It's not my strongest suit, but I'm a lot better at it than I am at stealth and tracking, that's for sure."

"Do'ya think you could teach me sometime?" Harry asked.

Tonks considered it for a moment, before saying, "Yea, sure, I could teach you some things. I'll let you know now though, I go about it a bit differently than most – since I'm usually the only girl, my size always puts me at a disadvantage, so I have to use agility and strategy to level out the playing field, so to speak."

"Fine by me. I'm ok with learning whatever. As it is, I'm pants at physical combat," he gestured, "as evidenced by you, oh so soundly, trouncing me a second ago."

"I wouldn't worry too much over it; most wizards don't know a thing beyond their wands anyway; I mean, how often do you see anyone in exercising? But if you're serious about it, I can have you auror grade by the time summer's through," Tonks assured. Harry nodded enthusiastically.

"That'd be brilliant! When do we start?"

Tonks drew from her inner drill sergeant, crisply replying, "You have five minutes to dress out and meet me back here, Cadet Potter." Her façade was ruined by the mischievous grin on her face. He saluted her.

"Yes ma'am!" As he turned to walk out of the drawing room, something caught his eye. He moved closer to the tapestry, trying to determine what seemed different about it. Then it hit him, "Tonks, do you know that your name is on the Black Family Tree now??"

Tonks strolled up behind him. "Huh. So it is. Mum said that Sirius had reinstated her into the Black family sometime last year, but I didn't know it would update this ancient thing." A slightly scorched, but legible, 'Andromeda' was not occupying the spot that, when Harry had last seen, was only a black singe. Directly below, a newly added gold thread attached the name 'Nymphadora.' "Dunno why Sirius even bothered. Mum couldn't have cared less. I guess it was all for the best in the end; do you know who would have taken the title of the Head of House otherwise?" Harry shook his head. "Draco Malfoy." They both shuddered at the thought. Harry, not wanting to think about the youngest Malfoy any longer, set back on his initial task of going to his room to change into athletic shorts and a t-shirt. "Three minutes left, Harry."

Harry quickly learned that Drill Sergeant Tonks was not nearly as fun as Saturday Lunch Buddy Tonks. He reentered the drawing room to find Tonks in loose, workout clothes, and the room's furniture all pushed to one side. Because he didn't make it back in the proscribed five minutes, his training started with a round of push-ups. The following hour was, though immensely beneficial, physically torturous to Harry. She went over the basics of everything from grappling to breaking techniques. By the end of it, his arms were like jelly, he was sweaty and panting, and, quite frankly, the newfound knowledge of all the different ways one could break the bones of another was disconcerting to him. "How's that for your first lesson?" Tonks asked, looking down at Harry's horizontal form. He slowly rose to his feet.

"Brilliant. Bloody painful, but brilliant."

Tonks laughed. "You know, that's exactly what I said to Mad-Eye after my first day." Harry groaned.

"I forgot you were taught by Moody. Probably found all sorts of ways to make this more agonizing than it needs to be."

"Nah, not more agonizing. Just ways to make you the best."

"Tomato, tamahto. Anyway, let's get something to eat, I'm starved."

She gave him an incredulous look. "We just ate!"

"But it's dinnertime!" He had a valid point, so she acquiesced. Making their way into the kitchen, they found the room bustling with activity. At various points of the day, Order members must have steadily trickled in, with the majority of them congregated in the kitchen. With the help of Ginny and Hermione, Mrs. Weasley was busy cooking over by the sink. At the kitchen table, Ron was playing Remus in a game of chess, while, a little farther away, Moody was in deep discussion with Kingsley, and, beyond them, a younger looking witch who Harry remembered from last summer as a part of the Advance Guard was reading the paper.

Mrs. Weasley spotted their presence first. "Nymphadora. Harry! Oh, how have you been dear? You're looking well – How did the muggles treat you?" She walked over and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley. I'm fine, everything's been fine," attempting to deflect her fussing.

Fortunately for him, Ron, who'd just put the chessboard away, came over to save him. He waved at Tonks and greeted Harry, "Hey Harry – where've you been all day mate? You disappeared almost as soon as you got here."

"Oh, Tonks and I were just hanging out in the drawing room today," he answered. Ron looked at him curiously, but didn't pursue the topic.

"Well, that's nice dear," Mrs. Weasley said, "Could you boys help set the table? And be sure to put a couple of extra placemats out, just in case anyone else decides to join us." Everyone that was already in the kitchen decided to stay for a meal; dinner was a tame affair, with Harry sitting on the bench in between Ron and Tonks, and Hermione and Ginny across from them, the conversation remained lighthearted. Only when someone brought up the Daily Prophet did the mood dim. Harry didn't know why suddenly everyone was suddenly shooting furtive looks around the table.

Deciding to just bite the bullet, he asked, "What?"

It was Hermione who elaborated, "I'm not sure how much you've been keeping up with it, Harry," knowing that her friend didn't read much about wizarding current events, "but You-Know-Who has been pretty active lately; even muggles are beginning to notice…" Harry zoned out for a second, recalling a memory of overhearing some neighborhood gossips talking about a collapsed bridge or something of that nature while he was still at Privet Drive. "… and Fudge resigned last week." Harry stared at her blankly, not quite comprehending how that could possibly be bad news. The man was as incompetent as they came. "The Prophet ran a whole edition on it! The ministry's sort of had a crisis of confidence since then, and from the looks of it, I think the Prophet's trying to do some damage control." At the other end of the able, the young witch that was reading the paper earlier, Hestia Jones, nodded in agreement.

"The Wizengamot elected an interim Minister two days ago: Rufus Scrimgeour," Remus inputted.

Tonks turned at the mention of the name, "he was Head of the Auror Office – reckon they wanted someone who actually knew something about winning a war for a change. Slave driver, that one."

"Right, well, anyway," Hermione continued, "like I said, the Prophet and the ministry are working together to do some damage control, so they just put out an article in today's paper about running special editions all week next week, on top of the regular post, focusing on one key person each day, you know, to bolster hope and morale."

Ron snorted, "Bolster morale? More like they're just trying to take the focus away from the ministry for a while, so they can clean up the mess that they've made." Harry didn't say it, but he found Ron's assessment much more believable. _Or to just take people's minds off of the deaths and disappearance_ Harry thought, but didn't say aloud.

Table conversations, unfortunately, couldn't recover from the damper that was put on the mood due to such topics, and people began to finish their meals in silence, or with simple, idle chatter. Soon, Order members began to filter out, most leaving for the evening.

"Dinner was lovely, Molly, thank you," said Kingsley as he left, leaving just Harry, Tonks, Hermione, and the three Weasleys. Harry was in mid-conversation with Ron about the upcoming quidditch season when Ron stopped, midsentence, eyes glazing over. Following his friend's line of vision, Harry looked over his shoulder to see Fleur entering the room, greeting the Weasley matron, who was nearest to the door. She, then, quickly made her way over to the table where everyone else was still seated.

"'Ello everyone! 'Arry! I did not realize you were arriving today. 'Ow 'ave you been?" Fleur asked, hugging him, placing a kiss on both cheeks. Tonks moved over to give the young witch space to sit.

Harry smiled rather goofily. "Yea, got here just this morning! I thought I'd be running into you at some point earlier today, but I guess time got away from me. Enjoying the new living situation?"

"I am! And I 'ave been at Gringotts all afternoon, so it is mainly my fault, no? I cannot zank you enough for 'elping me – I was skeptical after the first owl, wiz learning that this 'as a simple _fedelius charm_, but once I realized Albus Dumbledore 'imself was the secret keeper, I was convinced. It seems, 'Arry Potter, that you do not do things by 'alf measures," Fleur beamed.

Harry shrugged modestly. "It's the least I could do for a friend; but you didn't have to join the Order, Fleur, you could have just stayed here as my guest, you know? It's my house, after all."

"_You_ brought her here? Mate, I could kiss you," Ron said, in a low voice of awe, unknowingly echoing the exact same phrase Harry had said to Tonks hours earlier.

Simultaneously, Hermione asked, "Wait, what do you mean 'your house'?"

"Actually, Ron, I didn't personally bring her here, you have Tonks to thank for that; and to answer your question, Hermione, yea, technically this is my house… but Dumbledore's still the secret keeper, and I'd rather it be used as Headquarters than for it to just rot, so I just let him do whatever he wanted to it for the summer."

"So you just let all of us think Dumbledore inherited it?" Tonks queried. Harry shrugged; at the time, it was just easier to let people think whatever they wanted to.

Before anyone question him further, Fleur replied to his initial question, "Oh, but I _wanted_ to join, after 'earing about it. I only 'ope that I am talented enough to be of use; we cannot _all_ be metamorphagi, after all," she said, smiling at Tonks. The two witches had formed almost an immediate friendship upon meeting one another, both of similar, cheerful dispositions.

Tonks rolled her eyes, "You mean we can't all turn half the population into brainless lumps at our choosing; or wield fire on a whim. 'Talented enough'; honestly, is that a joke?"

"You're a full fire elemental?" Harry asked, excited at the prospect.

More than a couple of eyes fell on him, surprised that he would know what that even was. "Veela are natural fire elementals. I inherited the trait, though not all part-veela do. Gabrielle, for example, does not 'ave the same amount of control. 'Owever, 'er pull over men is much stronger zan mine is." Harry looked as fascinated with her words as Hermione usually did while reading a good book.

"Elementals that have full control over their abilities are _really_ rare, Fleur," Hermione said with a newfound respect for the woman in front of her.

"Why do you ask, Harry?" Ginny interjected, not thrilled at the fact that he seemed so intrigued by the blond beauty.

"Well, I think _I_ might be a fire elemental, too," he said, uncertain as to whether or not he should have divulged his theory. The phrase prompted a wide spectrum of emotions from those who were present. Hermione looked shocked, Ron donned a confused expression, and Ginny looked skeptical. At least Tonks and Fleur both seemed happy at the prospect. Judging by the reactions, Harry felt that elaboration on his part was in order. "I mean, I can't be sure, but I was reading a book that Sirius left me this summer, and in it was a chapter on elementals. I think it said that all witches and wizards are born with the ability; the only difference is _which_ element, and to what degree of control the person has over it." Hermione nodded, clearly impressed that he'd done his fact checking.

"'Ave you 'ad instances of uncontrolled elemental magic, 'Arry?"

Harry looked contemplative before slowly answering, "I think so. Usually when I'm mad, things around me sometimes accidentally catch on fire. Happened once in front of my uncle this summer," Harry smiled at the memory, "I'm pretty sure he almost wet himself. And another time recently, I was reading, um, something, that made me really angry, and the parchment sort of just – poofed – in my hand."

Fleur simply nodded, as if his statement were all the affirmation she'd needed. "For fire, emotionally fueled occasions are ze most common times for ze trait to show itself. I remember ze first time it happened to me; I accidentally set Papa's favorite armchair on fire when I was young because 'e refused to let me travel with Mama to see grand-mére."

"Well, I don't really know how adept I am, but if you have time, do you think you could teach me… or test me, or something?" He asked with a hopeful tone in his voice.

"Of course, 'Arry," Fleur replied, happily, "I would love to 'elp you! We might 'ave to fireproof a room before we start, though. Or at least become proficient at ze water jet charm."

July 28, 1996

Harry awoke in a cold sweat, images from his dream plaguing his lucid mind. He'd gone to bed the night before exhausted from his impromptu lessons, first in the afternoon with Tonks, and then after dinner with Fleur. Though he hadn't actually been able to exhibit even a smidgen of the mastery of the skill that Fleur had displayed (literally forcing a firewhip from out of her palm as demonstration), they left the session knowing that Harry was, at least, beyond the average level of fire elementals. Funnily enough, this only became known in the last five minutes, when Harry had become so frustrated with his lack of progress, that a tiny fireball abruptly appeared in his left palm. Barely larger than the flame of a _lumos,_ it still startled the poor young man half to death. Fleur, however, clapped happily, telling him that she would write her mother, who had trained Fleur, to ask for advice.

Rummaging around for a change of clothes, Harry tried to look on the bright side: at least his nightmares were of the normal variety, and not Voldemort induced. All the same, he briefly wondered if he was ever going to be able to get through a night of uninterrupted rest. Finally locating a pair of clean jeans and a polo, Harry got dressed and padded downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. The only other person awake this early was Hermione. The extra thick issue of The Daily Prophet lying on the table caught Harry's eye, he picked up the newspaper and skimmed the pages. Today was the first of their multi-issue focus on supposed 'influential individuals'. The front page included a series of pictures of the new minister, ranging from present day, of Scrimgeour at a recent press conference, to the man's childhood, a picture showing a teenager with hair reminiscent of a lion's mane, in a Hogwarts uniform standing in the Great Hall.

_Rufus Scrimgeour: Herald of a New Era or Simply a New Face?_

_Appointed interim Minister of Magic, in a mere three days, Rufus Scrimgeour has already_

_mandated sweeping changes within the ministry, focusing on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. His many undertakings in such a short span of time have many people looking to his leadership with approval. With a background as the former Head of the Auror Office, his qualifications are unquestionably present. In an exclusive interview with the Minister, he stated, "first and foremost, my focus is on the safety of the citizens in the British wizarding world."_

_However, this reporter must ask, do his actions mirror his words? Furthermore, is he truly ushering in a new era of change, or will he subscribe to the same politics as the previous administrations? Even with his new policies, there is little cohesion left in the DMLE; perhaps policy revision is not enough. In the last year, recruitment into this department has fallen…_

Harry read on, confused as to why the article, supposedly an effort to bolster support, was rife with backhanded compliments and thinly veiled criticism. He looked at the reporters name and groaned. "Hermione, how long did you say your agreement with Rita Skeeter would last?"

"I told her to keep her despicable pen to herself for a year and I would think about keeping her secret. Why?"

"Damn. It's been a year then? I think I just found out what her first project back is going to be," he said, holding up the article, Rita Skeeter's name clearly stamped beneath the title. "'_Rumors of Minister Scrimgeour's affiliation with questionable characters stem from his Hogwarts days, during which he was in Slytherin House_' – That's bollocks! No one's mentioned anything of the sort!"

Hermione sighed, "She's a cow. I actually think she takes pleasure in dragging people's names through the mud, I honestly do." Harry agreed. "You have to admit though, for _her_, this article isn't as bad as it could be." Hermione was right, of course, a fact that would become abundantly clear as, day-by-day, each person's biography became more and more salacious, and less based on any facts, whatsoever.

The next few days at Grimmauld Place would involve the same routine of spending the majority of the day with Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, and continuing his little sessions with Tonks or Fleur whenever it fit their schedules. Harry was elated to find out that Fleur was also a national dueling champion, and she agreed to teach him proper techniques and strategies once he was able to use his wand after the 31st. This, coupled with Tonks' promise to teach him battle spells and survival tactics, meant that he would potentially be able to learn all of the aspects involved in engaging in spellcasting against an opponent; he couldn't wait.

July 31, 1996

On the morning of his birthday, Harry found himself being awoken in a nicer, but arguably just as disruptive manner, as his usual nightmare driven alertness.

"HARRY POTTER! WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP!"

The youth in question bolted up from bed, eloquently replying, "Huh, wazzat?" Upon seeing who is unknown assailant was, he groaned and laid back down. "Ugh. Tonks. Too early… And it's Wednesday? Shouldn't you be at work or something?"

"Naw, never too early when it's your biiirtthhdaaay," she said in a singsong manner, whilst jumping on the bed, "besides, Wednesdays are my half days; don't go to work til the afternoon, which if perfect 'cos of Tuesday night Order meetings; course, not all meetings are quite as _memorable_, as last night's," she said delicately. Harry just groaned into his pillow in reply, recalling the memory of what she was referring to.

"Ugh. Firewhiskey was a bad idea," was the only thing he could think of to say.

_July 30, 1996_

_Grimmauld Place seemed busier than usual, much to Harry's confusion until Ron informed him that the weekly meeting of the full Order of the Phoenix was being held that night._

"_That means Dumbledore will be here?" Harry asked._

"_Yea mate, that means _everyone_ will be here."_

"_Perfect," he muttered sarcastically. He'd wanted to get a chance to speak to the Headmaster at some point, but the prospect of the entire Order being present meant little chance of talking to him in private. Luckily, Dumbledore arrived early; _unluckily_, Snape followed close behind, along with Professor McGonagall. Harry had to forcibly calm himself down upon seeing the Potions Master enter the room. 'He's on our side… can't kill him, he's on our side,' became his mantra. But another voice in the back of his mind interjected a snide, 'supposedly…'._

"_Ah, Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, and Mister Potter," said Professor McGonagall upon spotting the trio. "I trust you all have been well." A series of affirmations came from the teens. "Wonderful. These are usually sent through the post, but since I am already here, it would be silly if I didn't just deliver them to you. I'm sure some of you have been anxiously awaiting the arrival of these letters," she said, looking at Hermione in particular. She produced three letters from her robe pocket; Hermione squealed._

"_Our O.W.L. results??"_

"_And your booklists for next year," she affirmed._

_Hermione all but snatched the letter from their Head of House. Ron and Harry looked markedly less enthused. However, all three felt a slight protuberance in each of their packets. Opening the first letter, Hermione and Ron pulled out prefect badges once again. Harry, for his part, was shocked to see a shiny, red badge with a 'C' emblazoned upon it._

"_Professor…" he said, at a loss for words, "but my lifelong ban – "_

_She gave a sour look at the thought, and stiffly said, "Yes that was a bit of a sticky situation, but rest assured, Mr. Potter, any and _all_ decrees passed by that _woman_ have been reversed."_

_Ron clapped his best friend on the back, "Well done, Harry! Captain! We'll win the cup this year for sure now," he grinned at the thought. Harry just nodded dumbly, attention turned back to the unopened envelope. The boys exchanged glances, took deep breaths and broke the wax seals slowly. Meanwhile, Hermione was having a tiny panic attack, was unable to do anything but stare at the letter in her hands._

"_Blimey! 7 OWLs? And I got an O in Care!" Ron looked immeasurably relieved. "Mum will lose it! Fred and George only got 6 between the to of them… How'd you do, Harry?"_

"_7 OWLs as well: O in Defence, Charms, and Transfiguration," Harry said in disbelief. However, a realization hit him. "Only an E in Potions though," he said glumly, "I guess I'm not cut out for the aurors after all." Ron patted him on the back sympathetically._

"_Oh, but three O's are great, Harry!" Hermione said reassuringly, "And in the core subjects, too," she looked back at her envelope. "I can't do it. What if I failed them all? Here, you guys open it," she said, thrusting the letter towards them._

"_Don't be daft Hermione, you probably did the best in our class," Ron said, exasperated. She looked somewhat placated, but still opened the letter slowly._

"_Well…?"_

"_11 OWLs," she whispered, staring at the parchment. Ron made a strangled noise._

"_Hermione! That's excellent!" Harry exclaimed. Ron grabbed the parchment out of Hermione's hands._

"_And an O in just about everything, too! Hermione, you're ridiculous," he said._

_Hermione huffed, "But I only got an 'exceeds expectations' in astronomy!"_

"_Hermione, _everyone_ did poorly on that one – I got an 'acceptable'; don't you remember what was going on during that exam?"_

_Ron agreed, showing his 'poor' on the subject. All three teens glanced sideways at their Transfiguration professor, recalling the catastrophic events of that night._

_Professor McGonagall looked at her three students with pride, waving off their worried glances. "It takes more than a few stunners to put me out of commission," her students knew that this was most likely a lie on her part, considering people have died from less, but they understood her attempt to downplay the severity of the issue. "At any rate, congratulations to all of you, your positions are well deserved. I do not need to tell you that I am trusting you three to not abuse your privileges…" she left the statement open ended, mildly concerned with their propensity to get into trouble. They assured her that they would do no such thing, and she left to talk to an Order member, leaving the teens to chat excitedly._

_Harry, upon seeing Dumbledore finishing up a conversation with Snape, decided to use the opportunity to approach his Headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore?"_

_The old wizard turned, "Ah, Harry, how are you this fine evening?"_

"_I'm well, sir," he replied, "I was, er, wondering if I could talk to you in private, if you had a moment."_

"_Unfortunately, time will not permit for such pleasantries at the moment, as the meeting will commence shortly, but perhaps we can speak afterwards."_

_Harry looked a little disappointed, but agreed nonetheless, "Of course, sir," he looked embarrassed before stating, "And Headmaster? About last term," he began, "I'm really sorry for the office… and my behavior," he paused. Dumbledore's eyes merely twinkled. Snape, however, still within earshot, sneered at the boy, obviously aware of what Harry was referring to._

_He couldn't help himself for remarking, "Yes, Potter, it's nice to know you can apologize for destroying other people's belongings. How very humbling of you." Harry looked livid, and appeared to be fighting a losing battle of keeping control of his temper._

"_Professor Snape," he almost spat, "I was speaking to the Headmaster; I don't recall asking for your input," he said through gritted teeth. Snape gave a condescendingly hateful look._

"_Insolent as ever, I see. It's a pity that the absence of a particularly bad influence has made no difference," he drawled, giving a low blow, "though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; just like your father – "_

"_YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Harry roared, all false pretenses of civility lost. "How dare you, HOW DARE YOU talk about my father, like you have the _right_ to even _mention_ his name," he seethed, unaware that everyone else in the room had ceased their conversations to focus on his._

"_You disrespectful little brat, you dare speak to me that way, Potter?" Snape replied, with equal venom._

"_I'll speak to you however I want to, _Snape_."_

"Professor_ Snape, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, with a frown, but before he could say anything else, Harry began speaking once more._

"_I don't care, I'm not calling this coward anything that resembles a title of respect. He's no longer my professor anyway. I'm sure you'll be happy to know, Snivellus, that I won't be enrolled in your potions class next term, so we can stop pretending to tolerate each other."_

"_Of course you're not, Potter. Did you think that I ever even entertained the idea that you could achieve the Outstanding necessary to be enrolled? Your ego surpasses that of your worthless father if that's the case." In the blink of an eye, Harry had his wand pointed at Snape's throat, an action that elicited protest from most of the observers in the room; Harry paid no attention, he only saw red._

"_I told you that you have no right to talk about my father, not you. Not when you're the reason he's dead," his voice dangerously low. Gasps around the room could be heard. Snape's eyes, before filled with anger, were now wide with shock. His face became paler than before. Dumbledore stepped in._

"_Harry," he started tiredly, "I don't know where you received this information, but Professor Snape is an ally. He has risked his life for us, he – "_

"_He told Voldemort about part of the prophecy and got my parents killed," Harry cut in, scathingly, over whatever reasoning Dumbledore was trying to provide. "Everything else he's done afterwards doesn't matter. You think you can atone for your sins, Snape? That you can redeem yourself from your actions? Well you can't! And you don't _deserve_ redemption – I hope that for the rest of your miserable little existence you – " his rant was cutoff by Tonks, who had entered the room midway through the exchange, touching his hand, which was still gripping his wand._

"_Harry," she said, alarmed, "I need to talk to you for a mo, want to come with me?" not waiting for an answer, she pushed him out of the kitchen, his friends following him, leaving a shell-shocked Snape and bewildered Order in their wake. Once on the other side of the door, Harry took a deep, shaky, breathe, reigning in his anger._

"_Thanks, Tonks," he said after a brief stretch of silence. "I shouldn't have done that. I just gave away too much information. Fuck, I need a drink." Hermione looked stunned at both his language and at what just occurred. Everyone's minds were still reeling._

_Tonks, still uncertain about what had just unfolded, simply said, "Right. Well, I need to attend the meeting, so I'll have to leave you lot for a bit," she looked expectantly at Ron and Hermione, nonverbally relaying a message to the two, before walking back in the direction from which they came._

"_Harry," Hermione started._

_Ron finished, "What the bloody hell was that about? You just yelled at Snape!.. And a prophecy?" He finished, uneasily, under the impression that the contents of such had been destroyed. Harry just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a motion that was quickly becoming a common idiosyncrasy._

"_I guess it's about time to tell you guys; can we wait until later tonight, so I can just explain it to Tonks at the same time?" His friends acquiesced. Meanwhile, Harry made up an excuse about being tired, making his way to his room, wanting to be left alone._

_He sat against the windowsill of his bedroom, window open, immersed in thought, gazing down at the street, cigarette in hand. He didn't keep track of how long he'd been sitting there, but it didn't matter, really, one way or another. The sound of his door creaking opening registered in his mind; he didn't turn his head to the figures entering the room until they were next to him. More time than he'd realized must have passed, because in his room were Fleur, Tonks, Hermione, Ron, and Remus. 'Well, I guess the meetings over,' he thought._

"_Thought you'd appreciate this," Remus said, lifting the bottle of firewhiskey in his hand. "Oh, and here are the things you asked me to help you with," he handed Harry an envelope, which Harry thanked him for as he put it away. Remus then conjured glasses for himself and Harry, subsequently offering the beverage to everyone else present. Fleur and Hermione politely refused. Harry took his glass gratefully, downed the contents in a swallow, relishing in the familiar burn of the amber liquid. Remus raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and simply refilling his glass. Hermione looked at him, wide-eyed, once again, unsettled by the ease in which he drank. The questions were begging to leap off the tip of her tongue: when did he start drinking? And smoking? Did she just miss this behavior during the school year, or were these new developments? True to her nature though, she was smart enough to hold back._

_Harry assessed the figures in the room, and, upon deciding that they were all trustworthy, broke the silence, "So, where should I start?"_

"_I zink" Fleur said, "zat ze beginning is always best, non?" So, Harry started with the Department of Mysteries fiasco that led to Sirius' death, pausing to take a gulp of his drink before telling his companions about the prophecy. He'd debated not divulging the contents, but, then again, he conceded that he'd already mentioned it, and since they _were_ Order members, and, more importantly, his friends (who were going to be affected sooner or later merely by affiliation to him), they had a right to know. He ended with the letter he'd received from Sirius, which, unnecessarily, retold him about the contents of the prophecy, as well as why Voldemort knew, and how Snape was involved._

_After Harry finished his story, Ron, completely overwhelmed by the information, simply took a drink of his firewhiskey, sputtering as it burned his throat. "Bloody hell, how are you drinking this stuff, Harry?" he coughed._

_Hermione, who had stayed uncharacteristically quiet during his recounting, finally exploded, "Well no wonder you wrecked his office," she said in high-pitched voice, "Why on earth would the Headmaster tell you about the prophecy _right after we got back_??!" Harry was pleasantly surprised by her reaction; out of all of them, he thought she'd be the first to admonish his actions, ever the stickler for the rules and authority. He didn't, however, have an adequate response to her question, so he continued to scan the faces of the others in the room instead of offering any sort of answer._

_Remus looked even more haggard than usual. Harry, realizing something suddenly, asked him sharply, "You had to have known, didn't you?"_

_The older man lifted his weary eyes to meet Harry's gaze. "I promise you, Harry, I didn't. I wasn't exactly the most trusted of friends during the first war; everyone was paranoid, and I was a werewolf. It didn't exactly help my cause, best friend or not," he sighed heavily, taking a long draw from his glass. Harry nodded, looking a little ashamed for jumping down Remus' throat. A pat on his arm let him know that the former professor didn't take it personally._

_Tonks, who was sitting on the ledge next to him, met Harry's eyes and gave him a look of concern, but chose not to say anything. He was grateful of her silence. Fleur was equally as silent, but she had a far away expression on her face that Harry couldn't quite read._

"_So there you have it," he said, giving a derisive snort, "in the end, it's going to come down to him or me. Now that you know, I suggest you all run as fast and as far away from me as you can."_

"_Oh, don't be a sodding idiot, Harry," Ron said for the group, "we've been with you this far, what makes you think we'd leave you now?"_

"_I didn't say I thought you would, I said I think you _should_," he said simply._

"_Not a chance, Potter," Tonks said, "If the survival of the world rests on _you_ surviving, then you better bet your sweet arse I'm sticking around to make sure you don't go dying on us." Harry smiled at her attempt to lighten the mood. The group of six talked for a little while longer, most of them trying to come to terms with the idea that 'neither can live while the other survives'; it was a heavy thought. Never again would Ron envy Harry's lot in life._

_Remus was the first to leave the impromptu meeting, shortly followed by Hermione's departure; Ginny had come looking for her, as the two were sharing a room, and it was atypical for the witch to not already be in bed at this hour. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Weasley came by in search for Ron, looking suspiciously between the four people in the bedroom and the half empty bottle of firewhiskey on the coffee table, but said nothing, mostly due to the somber expressions on all of their faces. All the same, she beckoned for Ron to come downstairs with her, so he made his departure as well._

"_I think I should be heading out as well," Tonks said a few minutes later, looking at her watch that read 11:43 pm. "I'm knackered," she stood and stretched, "You coming, Fleur?"_

"_Non, I am not zat tired yet," came her reply, "you go ahead." Tonks shrugged._

"_Suit yourself. Night, Harry," he stood up as she pulled him into a hug and then left._

"_You know, I actually only came up 'ere to tell you zat you set a chair on fire in ze kitchen as you were leaving," Fleur said lightly, "but I zank you, 'Arry, for counting me among ze number of your friends you trust wiz your secrets."_

"_It's not a big deal, Fleur," he responded, still standing, leaning against the wall, "you deserve to know what you're getting yourself into, you know; with the Order. With being my friend."_

_Fleur shook her head in frustration, "I do not understand you, 'Arry Potter," Harry gave her a confused look as she continued, "'ow can you 'ave all of zis, zis, _responsabilité_ thrust upon you and still be a good person?"_

_He gave a low laugh and took another gulp of his drink. "I'm not a good person," he replied, "a good person wouldn't have thought about killing Snape as remorselessly as I did tonight. And a decent bloke wouldn't have tried to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange, as if it were nothing more than a levitation charm."_

"_Zat is where you are wrong, 'Arry, because a lesser man _would_ 'ave killed zat, Snape, as you call 'im," she said emphatically, "_I_ would 'ave killed 'im wizout a second thought if I learned zat he took part in la mort de mes parents." She stopped, not wanting to rant at the young man in front of her, though desperately wanting him to see himself as others viewed him. She took a step closer to him and reached for his hands, clasping them in her own. "I often wondered what zat leetle boy zat saved Gabrielle from ze bottom of ze lake was thinking, wiz no regard to personal safety or ranking in ze tournament. But now zat I know you, I understand zat you are always zinking about uzzers, and never about yourself. Zat is 'ow I know zat you are a good person, 'Arry." Harry looked at Fleur, flattered that she thought so highly of him. All at once, he noticed his hands were still intertwined in hers, and as her monologue had progressed, her face had moved closer and closer._

_Her face was impossibly close now; he could count the tiny freckles on her nose, and feel her breathe lightly tickling his cheek. He leaned forward, almost subconsciously, capturing her lips with his. The kiss was neither a frantic, nor feverish one (as he was used to), but, rather, it was slow, sweet, and chaste. He pulled back slightly after a few seconds, breaking the kiss for a moment to study her reaction. Her eyes fluttered open, and he saw that her blue orbs held hints of surprise, as well as a small amount of desire._

_He leaned in again, but this time, she met him halfway as he reclaimed her lips. As her hands made their way to the tresses of his hair, he moved his to encircle her waist, simultaneously running his tongue against her lips; her mouth opened willingly. Tongues met, and he tasted subtle hints of something sweet, almost like a mixture of honey and cinnamon, while she encountered a minty flavor, currently being intermingled with a bite of whiskey. With her pressed flush against him, he was hyperaware of the contours of her body as he tried to pull her closer still._

_As kisses became more insistent, he grew frustrated by the robes she had on, so he worked to divest her of the unnecessary garments. Underneath, she wore a blouse and pants, both simple, yet elegant. He turned to reverse their positions, pinning her against the wall he was leaning on just seconds ago. The openmouthed kisses began to trail away from her mouth, along her jaw line, and, as one of his hands brushed her silky hair out of the way, down the inside of her neck. She let out a soft moan as her hands dove into his hair once more; her back arched, causing her hips to inadvertently grinding into his._

_He let out a groan but pulled away at the motion, conscious of the fact that if he didn't stop soon, he wouldn't be stopping at all. Fleur's thoughts were along the same lines, as she took a hand and placed it on his chest, momentarily keeping him at a distance as she caught her breathe, willing her heart to stop racing. There foreheads were still only millimeters apart, so that when she opened her eyes, she saw his piercing green ones staring back at her. His pupils were dilated, unbridled want shining through his eyes, which were a dark, forest green. "We should stop," she finally said, after regaining control of her breathing. He nodded, albeit, reluctantly, in agreement. Still, neither made a move to extricate themselves from the intimate position they were still entangled in._

_Finally, Harry let go of her waist, and she took her hands off his chest and out of his hair. Not many words were exchanged between the two as Fleur made her way out the door, and Harry began to fear that he'd made an awkward situation out of their friendship. He followed her to the door, and as she turned the doorknob to leave, he spoke, "Fleur, wait," he grabbed her wrist softly, causing her to turn around, "I'm s – "_

_She cut him off by placing a finger on his lips, "'Arry, if zere is one zing that I am going to be able to teach you while I am 'ere, it will be zat you must never apologize to a girl for kissing her," she said, giving him a smile. He felt relieved, knowing that he didn't just irreparably damage whatever relationship they had. However, that didn't stop the questions that were still running through his head. Fleur must have felt his trepidation, because she leaned forward on her tiptoes and placed a soft peck on his lips before saying, "do not worry about a zing, 'Arry, it will all work itself out in ze end."_

_Harry looked at her quizzically, but nodded all the same. "Good night, Fleur."_

"_Good night, mon chéri," Fleur replied. "Oh, and 'Arry?"_

"_Hm?"_

"'_Appy Birthday." With that, she left. Harry looked at the clock: 12:06. Happy birthday, indeed._

July 31, 1996

Harry, finally out of bed due to Tonk's insistence, shooed the witch out of the room so that he could get dressed properly. Quickly brushing his teeth, he put on a pair of khaki shorts with a light blue, slim fit, oxford over a t-shirt, and walked out the door. She waited for him on the other side of his doorway, so the two made their way down to breakfast together, Tonks cheerfully chattering away. Harry had woken up with a strange sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, but he shook it off, allowing for Tonks' positive energy to catch on. Upon entering the kitchen, Harry saw, surprisingly, that the other members of the household were already up and eating breakfast. He also spotted a pile of presents stacked on one end of the table. Immediately spotting him, his friends exclaimed their happy birthdays and ushered him over to the table. After he sat down, Mrs. Weasley placed a plate in front of him, filled to the brim with breakfast foods that would easily feed two or three people.

"Happy birthday, dear," she said, affectionately to him, "you should eat up, we've got a big day ahead of us today."

"Mum's taking us to Diagon Alley to buy our supplies today," Ron explained, "but that's after you open your presents!" Harry grinned at his friend's enthusiasm, and he was happy to see that no one thought of him any differently after last night. Either that, or they were acting rather admirably for his sake; whichever, he was grateful for it, all the same. Breakfast ended quickly, and because Harry didn't seem to have much of an appetite that morning, he enlisted Ron's help in finishing his plate, which the redhead did happily.

Harry proceeded to the pile of presents, upon the insistence of his friends, who were clearly more enthused than he was over the whole business of birthdays. The first present he reached for was thin and rectangular in size. "That one's from me," Ginny said merrily. Harry opened the gift to find a box of chocolates.

"Thanks, Gin," Harry said, giving a grin in her direction. She simply smiled broadly back. Next, Hermione put a small, square box, wrapped in shiny, deep purple paper, in front of him.

"That's a collective gift from me, Hermione, and the twins," Ron explained. Harry opened it, and it was due to sheer luck and natural instinct that his hand shot out and caught the object that flew out of the packaging.

"You guys got me _a snitch_?" he asked in disbelief. He slowly slackened his grip around the tiny gold ball, which ceased struggling in his palm. "Thank you so much," he said earnestly, knowing how expensive such a tiny object was, eliciting a hug from Hermione as well as Ron.

"I'm so happy you like it!" came Hermione's reply, while Ron merely stated that it only made sense, considering he was quidditch captain now. Tonks, who was sitting at the table with them, asked how talented he was, having never seen him play.

"He's brilliant; best seeker at Hogwarts in ages," Ginny said, adoringly. Harry blushed at her praises, mumbling a dissenting reply, which was stopped by Ron, who also assured her that Harry was really quite unstoppable.

"Maybe we could get a pick-up game going at some point this summer," Tonks said thoughtfully, "I was a chaser myself in my Hogwarts days. Had to quit 7th year to focus on auror prep, but all the same, it was my favorite thing to do at Hogwarts. Anyway, here, open this one next," she changed the subject, pushing a box wrapped in yellow paper with black ribbon towards him, "it's from me!"

Harry laughed at her, not even bothering to say that he would have known, due to the color scheme, which one was from her without any help. "A 'Puff through and through, huh?"

"Oi, it's not my fault you lot are all brash Gryffindors. What's a Hufflepuff got to do to earn some respect around here?" she jokingly replied. He just shook his head and ripped open the present. Within the box, two items fell out. The first was a worn, wooden doll, almost exactly like the ones he'd remembered from grade school in art class. The second was a tiny box that, upon opening, revealed a leather-corded necklace with a tiny, sickle-sized, silver phoenix hanging from it. He looked at Tonks for elaboration. "The necklace is for communication; I've got the other half," she explained, as she pulled out a silver chain from around her neck that had an identical phoenix hanging from it. "Whenever you need to get in touch me with, you can just grab the phoenix, think of me, and mine'll get warmer and warmer until I notice it; same goes for me if I ever needed to contact you."

"Brilliant," Harry said as he put the leather cord around his neck. It fit so that the phoenix hung just below his collarbone, making it easy to tuck underneath his t-shirts, but still easily accessible. He missed the mildly stunned looks Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were giving each other; none of them truly knew the extent of Harry and Tonks' friendship. To them, it seemingly sprung from nowhere, making this rather intimate gift somewhat excessive.

"And the cord and clasp are made to be pretty much unbreakable, unless someone hexes it off of ya," she said. Then, as she reached for the wooden doll, she spoke, "this is actually the training dummy Mad-Eye gave to me when I first started; I've gotten a new, upgraded, one since, so I don't really have much use for this little guy anymore – you might want to stand up for this," she twisted the head a quarter of a turn to the right and pressed down. Suddenly, the dummy began to grow, not stopping until it reached the height of a fully-grown adult. It then, shocking everyone but Tonks, moved on its own volition into a fighting stance that was all too familiar to Harry.

"His name's Bert – he's a sparring dummy," Tonks said happily, "he'll fight you, hand-to-hand; he's programmed to be a slightly above average fighter at the moment. Thought you might get more use out of him than me. No more punching walls, yea?"

"He's great, Tonks," Harry replied, "but how do you, uh, turn him back?"

"Oh, right, almost forgot! Here, just grab his arm like so," Tonks twisted 'Bert's' right arm behind him into a submission hold and the dummy shrunk back down to its original size. After Harry reiterated his thanks, he opened the rest of his presents from people who couldn't be there. The most memorable in his mind were Remus' and Fleur's. From Remus, Harry received a thin notebook that detailed the process of becoming an animagus. It was his father's. From Fleur, Harry opened a small box that contained a fleur de lis, about the same size as the phoenix Tonk's had given him, with the same loop through the top. With it came a short note that stated, _Happy birthday, Harry! Because you have shown me a great deal of hospitality by inviting me to stay in your house, it is only right that I return the favor. This fleur de lis is a portkey to my ancestral home in France. To activate it, you need only to touch it and say 'Chateau de Delacour'. I hope you have a wonderful birthday!_

"She and I sort of collaborated on this part," Tonks said, "you can put both on the same cord. We figured a bloke wouldn't want to bother with too many necklaces and jewelry." Harry agreed, slipping the charm onto the necklace he was already wearing. Hermione was fascinated at the idea of such a tiny piece of silver being able to hold the enchantment of an international portkey. She commented that Fleur must be fairly gifted at charms to perform such a feat. Ron only admired the fact that Harry had, essentially, a free pass to the Delacour residence whenever he felt like it. It was for the same reason that Ginny seemed a bit sour.

"So, birthday boy, how does it feel to be the big 16?" she teased. The statement brought two thoughts to the forefront of his mind.

Sixteen – he could use magic! "Speaking of birthdays, Tonks, I have your gift now!"

She rolled her eyes, "Harry, don't you know how birthdays works? You _get_ gifts, you're not supposed to _give_ them."

He shrugged, "since when do I ever do things by the book?" With that, he pulled his wand out of his back pocket and summoned an envelope from his room. The paper landed in his outstretched hand, and immediately the other occupants in the room protested.

"Harry, you're going to get expelled!"

"You can't do underage magic!"

He tried to quell any additional chastising, "Guys, calm down, it's fine, I won't get expelled because I'm not breaking the decree for restriction of underage magic." Hermione's skepticism was not lost upon him. "Seriously, just wait; they're not going to send a letter. I had a chat with some folks. Long story short, I've been instated as the Head of the House of Potter, so, for all intents and purposes, I'm an adult in the eyes of the law upon my 16th birthday."

"Harry, how many secrets are you keeping from us?" was all Hermione could eventually say.

"I'm not keeping secrets, Hermione, at least, not on purpose. Some things just haven't come up in conversation. I've had sort of a busy summer, I guess." She seemed appeased by his answer, but still a bit miffed. Realistically, she was also put out because he would be able to perform magic now and she still had to wait until September. "Anyway," he continued, handing Tonks the envelope, "happy belated birthday!" She tore the envelope apart, tugging out its contents.

She glanced between the tickets in her hands and the person who had given them to her, a look of incredulity fixed on her facial features. "You're joking," was all she could say. When he shook his head to confirm that he was not joking in the slightest and was, in fact, deadly serious, she gave a tiny shriek and tackled him, hugging the life out of the teen.

"Does anyone want to tell me what's so bloody exciting about two pieces of green paper," Ginny asked, interrupting the exchange.

"These," Tonks said, holding up the tickets in question, "are not just 'two pieces of green paper'. These are two tickets to the semifinals of the Beach Soccer World Cup in Brazil this August[1]!" she exclaimed.

Harry nodded. "I remember you telling me that you loved football, and that your favorite team was Brazil. Wasn't hard to connect the dots after that. The tickets themselves are portkeys," he explained, "you, and whoever you decide to bring along, just have to be at the check-in point at the time and date listed."

"Harry, this must've cost a fortune; you really shouldn't have done this," Tonks protested, but Harry dismissed it.

"It's fine Tonks. It was a belated birthday gift. If it makes you feel better, you can even think of it as a thank you for putting in extra hours on guard duty… and paying for my food every week," he grinned cheekily. Hermione was the first, and only, of the three teens present to put two and two together, realizing that somehow, while Tonks was guarding Privet Drive over the summer, the two had formed an unexpected friendship.

Harry couldn't remember ever having a better birthday. After the presents were all opened, he decided to take his new possessions and put them away in his room. The teens had the rest of the morning to themselves before making the trip to Diagon Alley, while Tonks had to go to work. In their few hours of free time, the four friends decided to mill around the kitchen, Hermione working on her school essays, Ron next to her complaining loudly at the fact, Ginny quietly writing in her journal, and Harry skimming through the pages of the animagus notes his dad had kept. He stopped reading after reaching a particularly painful sounding passage, detailing a mishap between Sirius in dog form, and a feral dog from the forest.

He looked around the kitchen for something else to do to pass the time. On the counter, he spotted the familiar pages of the Daily Prophet, face down, underneath one of Mrs. Weasley's particularly heavy cookbooks. Harry had gotten into the habit of reading the Prophet, begrudgingly admitting to the fact that the special edition articles were quite amusing to him. With Scrimgeour, Harry was annoyed, and mildly horrified, at the idea that Rita Skeeter seemed to be back to her old tricks, once again. However, the next day, Albus Dumbledore captured the headlines, complete with pictures his the Headmaster's youth, with a particularly humorous photo of him standing on a foothill, his brother tackling a goat in the background. The general tone of the article made Dumbledore out to be an old, bumbling fool, well past his prime, though it ended by saying that he is supposedly the only wizard Voldemort ever feared, and would be an icon for centuries to come. The mixed messages being sent were as baffling as they were ridiculous, and, therefore, funny, to Harry.

Yesterday, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, was dubbed, simultaneously, to be the possible ruin of the law enforcement branch of the ministry, as well as the bold, inspiring leader of the forces charged with taking down Death Eaters. Harry reached for the paper, absentmindedly wondering which poor soul would be the focus of Skeeter's machinations today. He glanced at the headlines, and suddenly, found that they weren't quite so amusing anymore.

_Boy-Who-Lived Turned Playboy?_

_At the tender age of one, Harry Potter became the only known survivor of the Killing Curse, a feat that led to the disappearance of You-Know-Who for more than a decade. Today, Mr. Potter turns 16 years old, and is once again rumored to be The Chosen One. However, controversial past aside, this reporter can only help but wonder if the current behavioral pattern of this young man is suited for that of someone who may be destined to bear great responsibilities in the future. Having befriended our young hero while he was tragically forced to participate in the legendary Triwizard Tournament two years ago, Harry has been in close contact ever since…_

Harry's eyes glazed over the rest of the article, completely dumbstruck by its contents. However, as unbelievable as the words were, it was the pictures that made him want to repeatedly bang his head against the counter. There was the well-known photograph of him with Hermione during their fourth year, in a tight embrace before he went off to outfly a dragon; Skeeter also somehow snapped a picture of him and Fleur during their lunch outing a few short weeks ago; and then, the pictures became markedly less innocent. Harry had no idea how, but Rita Skeeter managed to procure a photo of one of Harry's midnight trysts. In it, displayed him lip locked with a young, blond girl whose fingers were guiltily undoing his belt buckle while his traitorous hands were frozen in the motion of unbuttoning the top buttons of the girl's shirt, over and over again. The effect of these photos in conjunction to one another, regardless of how out of context, was damning. He groaned; he knew he should have trusted the foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach when he woke up that morning.

-----

[1] The FIFA Beach Soccer World Cup is an actual event that took place in 1996, though in January. In this story, I make it occur in August, simply as a plot device.

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To address some points that reviewers have raised

**Slytherin66**: I completely agree! Glad you like the development so far.

**quindich**: (1) While it's true that Sirius' death was accidental, that doesn't mean that he wouldn't have taken the time out to draw up a will - the way I see it, he was a man whose been very close to death, and, therefore, understands that life is relatively fleeting. As for when he would have taken the time out to do this: well, he was in Grimmauld Place for all of Harry's fifth year, presumably unable to leave (what with his fugitive status), so I would guess that he had an abundance of free time to think things out. With that in mind, I don't think it's a farfetched thing to say that he might've spent a little time managing his assets. (2) As far as canon goes, we don't find out until the 6th book that Sirius leaves everything to Harry, and I'm working with the material we have directly following the 5th book. I will admit that there are elements of the 6th and 7th books that I will keep, but I didn't think it was so terrible that I changed this minor detail (from Sirius leaving everything, to just half to Harry). (3) The prize for winning the Triwizard Tournament was one thousand (1,000) galleons. You definitely have a point about it being unreasonable to believe that Harry inherits millions from some Sirius or some secret vault, but, to be clear, I do not incorporate either elements. Vault 711 is, in canon, Sirius' personal vault. I also haven't specified exactly how much was in it, mainly because I find it an arbitrary point; he inherits money from a pretty old/wealthy family... I think it's safe to say that it's a substantial amount. (4) I'm not trying to make Harry into "God's gift to the goblins," as you say, and I hope that their future involvement (if they have any) doesn't make it seem like that is my intention. I have only detailed Harry's interactions with one, singular goblin, who is being helpful out of personal gratitude. In a world that puts a lot of emphasis on the repayment of 'debt' (Life Debts, Wizard's Oaths, etc.), I feel as though this is, at least, plausible, though perhaps not probable. I hope that addresses our points!

**Siven80**: It's funny that you mention this; I was going to take the whole 'Harrison' element out because I know that it's contrary to canon, but, ultimately, I decided that I personally just liked the sound of 'Harrison' as his full name; 'Harry' James Potter just doesn't have the same ring to it, in my mind, when used in legal and official documentation. That's poor reasoning on my part, but I hope that this tiny annoyance doesn't stop you from continuing to read the story!

**WhiteElfElder**: I'm glad you kind of like this Harry better... It's hard to make Harry a realistic character while maintaining his characterization from the books, so my only defense in the change would be that the death of Sirius, coupled with learning the contents of the prophecy have profoundly changed him in a very short amount of time. Being noble is only going to get him so far; I think it's time that the characteristics in Harry that almost got him into Slytherin should begin to come into play.

**Elfwyn**: (1) Apologies about the highly decorated auror comment; I completely forgot that she was in her first year, I just recalled that she was one of the last aurors the corp accepted, and because of her unique abilities/tutelage under Moody, that she is kind of a force to be reckoned with. Really, I just get annoyed when people characterize her as a giggling, incompetent, trips over everything, slutty girl, and I really wanted to emphasize that Tonks in this story will not behave as such. Sorry about the discrepancy. (2) As for privacy, I think we can all agree that Dumbledore doesn't give a flying f*ck about Harry's privacy, which is a wholly infuriating matter. Be that as it may, I qualified Harry's acceptance of the situation with the fact that he is able to sneak out quite frequently - consider it appeasement. Tonks will eventually have to decide between upholding the law/supporting Harry/auror duty and upholding the Order's wishes... though I will say that her hanging out with Harry is already in blatant disregard to the latter (which may allude to her future decisions). (3) She can apparate into his room, and into any other part of the house, as can the other 3 guard members that are on Privet Drive duty. I didn't elaborate on the intricacies of this, and maybe I should have. The logic there is that, as guards, they should have full access to the property they are watching over, should they not? Details about wards and exceptions of such aside, I think this is plausible. We never really get the full story about how this works from canon, so I had to speculate and use a bit of artistic license. (4) Regarding the "...few things..." quote, that's just hyperbole and sarcastic humor on my part - the irony is in the fact that you mentioned: someone whose stood toe to toe with Voldemort shouldn't be afraid of little ole' Tonks. Oh, and rest assured, she's making idle threats; I had hoped that, based on Harry's reactions (to laugh), that this would be clear.

**To all of the above and everyone else**: Your comments and reviews are greatly appreciated, so thanks for taking the time to do so!


	4. Chapter 4

Of Prophet Reactions and Oral Fixations

July 31, 1996

By midmorning, much to everyone's dismay, Mrs. Weasley informed the four that they would have to postpone the trip to Diagon Alley until the weekend, due to the lack of adults available to escort the teens. Usually, Harry would have become irate at the notion of needing bodyguards for something as simple as buying school supplies, but as it was, he was almost relieved to not have to face the general public today, after having part of his personal life splattered, even if inaccurately, across the front pages of the most read newspaper of the wizarding realm.

His friends, upon seeing his expression at the front pages of the paper asked in jest which official was being crucified today. When they received no answer, they clamored over to where Harry was standing to look over his shoulder at the headlines. Predictably, Hermione looked appalled, both at the article, and at Harry, though she was torn between berating him and asking him if there was any truth to the images. Ron had the warring emotions of pride and envy battling within him, but, in light of recent conversations, he eventually accepted that his best friend, perhaps, deserved a little bit of fun – and it _did_ look fun from Ron's perspective; the boy flushed at his thoughts. The redness on his cheeks, however, was nothing compared to the shade of color Ginny was turning, though, due to a completely different emotion. Her jealous anger shined through on her facial expression, a standard occurrence for the entire Weasley clan. She wanted to speak up in protest, wanted to beg Harry to tell her that racier pictures were taken out of context, but, then again, she couldn't really think of a context that would adequately explain away what she was seeing. She desperately wished it were _her_ in the photo, pressed against his bare chest, being held by him in such an intimate manner.

Her irrational childhood fantasy of being the first and only one for the Boy-Who-Lived shattering before her eyes, the youngest Weasley abruptly left, not wanting the others to see her cry; the scenario was all together very similar to the one that played out upon Harry's arrival to Grimmauld Place only a few days ago, but this time, sadly, no one recognized Ginny's departure as something out of the ordinary, and so, it was left unchecked. The event, miniscule in most of everyone else's mind, meant that until her embarrassment, interspersed with heartbreak, was sufficiently squashed, Ginny would be avoiding the other three teens in the household like the plague.

Ron voiced his opinions first, goofy grin adorning his face. "Harry, you dog. Is this what you do over the summers? Why on earth do you even bother coming back, mate?"

The appalled look on Hermione's face, if possible, intensified. "Well obviously, these photos are embellished somehow. That awful woman is just trying to stir up another scandal like always, isn't she, Harry?"

"Erm, yea. Embellished, or something," he stated weakly.

Ron just clapped him on the back, winked conspiratorially, and whispered, "you'll tell me about it later, won't you?"

"_Harry!_"

The rest of Harry's birthday passed without much fanfare, a fact that pleased him greatly. Because the Order meeting was the previous night, the house was relatively quiet aside from its usual occupants. Unfortunately, going on day five of being stuck in one place was beginning to take its toll on the young man, who was starting to feel restless, needing something to occupy his time. The novelty of being able to use magic began to wear off, as he soon learned that having the ability to do cast spells was of little use when he hadn't bothered to expand his repertoire of knowledge on spells. However, the prospect of rifling through the Black library for spellbooks didn't seem overly appealing to him at the moment, so he tried to come up with other ways to spend his time; he couldn't. Realizing that it was fruitless to waste his day away, he simply continued reading the information on animagus transformation Remus had given him. Not only did the tiny notebook make him feel connected to his father on a personal level, something that rarely happened, but he was also fast becoming genuinely fascinated by the process. His mind was made up before he'd even realized it; he was going to try and become an animagus.

August 3, 1996

Remus and Tonks were the only two free on Saturday to accompany the four Weasleys along with Harry and Hermione to Diagon Alley, but they decided to just go ahead and make the trip, rather than delay it once more. Before embarking on their errand, however, Mrs. Weasley took the teens aside to sternly tell them to stay together, tension tangible in her voice.

"Everyone's really high-strung right now 'cos there was an attack on one of our own last night," Tonks whispered to Harry as Mr. Weasley went through the floo, followed by Ginny, Remus close behind. "A bunch of Death Eaters attacked Emmeline Vance – dunno if you knew her," Harry shook his head, no, "but it was four against one. She never even stood a chance." He wasn't sure what to say in response, but that didn't matter much, because Mrs. Weasley chose that moment to come up from behind and separate the two whispering companions.

"Come along, Harry, you can go after Ronald," she said brusquely, looking at Tonks with clear disapproval in her eyes. Obviously, she didn't think it wise to worry the children with such details. Tonks tried to hide her eye-roll while Harry just marched towards the fireplace, holding his tongue. He was still slightly put off by the way she'd scolded at him after she'd read the article in the Daily Prophet.

Her voice had grown progressively shriller throughout her tirade, which was, embarrassingly, at the dinner table, with more people present than Harry was comfortable with, until the only words he could make out were the occasional 'scarlet women,' and 'traipsing around,' and 'taught you better' – suffice to say, he got the message, though it was not one that he appreciated. While he understood the Weasley matron's propensity towards mothering (she was, after all, the mother of seven children), he couldn't help but get annoyed at her compulsion of thinking that she always knew best. Seven children or no, he itched to point out, he wasn't one of them. Additionally, he was already working with a short fuse, and Mrs. Weasley was much closer to setting it off than she knew.

Diagon Alley seemed to be just as busy as it was four weeks ago when Harry had visited it last, but this, perhaps, was a testament to how bad things actually were. As this was a weekend, one of the busiest back-to-school shopping weekends no less, crowds should have been significantly more inflated. But because this wasn't the case, the group got through the majority of shopping in record time, stopped only briefly by the occasional schoolmate that one of them would run into at the various shops. Harry happily greeted the few familiar faces that he'd hoped to see: Neville, Seamus, even Katie brightened his day. Others, however, he could have done without, namely Pavarti and Lavender, who simply greeted Hermione and giggled rather obnoxiously in his direction throughout their entire exchange.

Harry thanked his lucky stars that his baseball cap, fitted navy blue shirt, and pale jeans made him blend in enough to not be too recognizable; strangers didn't so much as give a second glance his way. Before they'd left, Hermione commented that he possibly looked _too_ muggle to blend in effectively. To which he replied, "For Voldemort _and_ the press, I think 'Harry Potter' ranks a little higher on the hitlist than 'muggle', so, I'll take my chances." She rolled her eyes in response, still not comfortable enough with the idea of Voldemort wanting Harry dead to joke about it.

As their trip drew to an end, the group made their way back from the menagerie, towards the Leaky Cauldron. Some unknown compulsion caused Harry to glance down Knockturn Alley, and as they'd passed it, he caught a glimpse of a very familiar blonde haired boy, seemingly being dragged away by a cloaked figure. An alarm went off inside of Harry's brain, and upon weighing his options, his adventurous side won out.

"Oh, damn. I forgot to buy owl treats for Hedwig," he lied. "I'll just run back and buy some and meet you guys in the Leaky Cauldron, alright?" Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth in protest, but Tonks cut her off.

"I'll go with him," she said, "it's no big deal, we'll be back in a tic." The other adults seemed satisfied with the plan, and agreed.

As the two separated from the group Harry heard Ron say, "How'd he forget owl treats? That's the whole reason we went to the menagerie, in'it?" Harry, while glad to be rid of the larger group, now had to think of a way to shake Tonks away long enough for him to snoop around the unsavory parts of the street.

"Ok, Harry, where're we really going?" Harry looked at the older women, surprised. "Oh, come off it, I _saw_ you buy owl treats. Plus, you really are just awful at lying, you know."

Harry harrumphed. "Fine, I thought I saw Draco Malfoy going down Knockturn Alley, and I wanted to see what the little ferret was up to," he admitted.

Tonks looked at Harry in disbelief. "And you were going to go by yourself?? Which part of that plan did you think was a good idea: the bit where you get yourself murdered or the part where I bring you back to life to kill you myself?"

"Hey! I'm perfectly capable of handling myself," he replied snappishly.

"Harry, fully trained wizards rarely stumble down Knockturn Alley on their own, never mind the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived. After knowing everything that you do, how could you possibly think this was a smart idea?" His disregard for his personal safety was going to be the death of her, she just knew it. Harry, for his part, looked ashamed. Truthfully, he hadn't really thought it all out when he made the split second decision. His curiosity won out in the battle of wills, consequences be damned; suddenly, whatever Draco Malfoy may or may not have been doing mattered very little to Harry. He exhaled. They were standing in front of the juncture between the two streets now, and Harry was a second away from simply calling the whole thing off when the sound of a fist making impact with a body reached his ears, followed by a sharp cracking noise and a low groan of pain. The sound repeated itself, and then a third time, followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the ground.

Both Tonks and Harry jumped into action, relying on instincts that told them to go help whomever was currently being assaulted. The zigzagged street made it so that they were only able to see a few feet ahead of them at a time before having to abruptly change direction. Turning at the first bend, they were met with the sight of the bloodied and battered Malfoy scion crumpled on the ground, his assailant nowhere to be found. His normally immaculate hair was matted down with blood, oozing from an unknown spot on his head. The rest of his body was in similar disarray, but the horrifying feature on the boy was, without a doubt, the state of his face. Quite obviously, whoever had beaten Malfoy aimed predominately for the boy's skull, a body part that was now swollen beyond recognition. Harry hesitated, but only for a moment. Bane of his existence or not, the boy was still on the brink of death, lying in a heap in the corner of a deserted alley. No one deserved to go like that. So, knelt down beside him, wand in hand, mentally scouring his brain for any type of healing charms he knew.

Malfoy chose this particular moment to stir, eyes cracking open. However, Harry was uncertain if he was even able to recognize who was in front of him, as his pupils were clearly clouded over with pain. From the looks of it, the boy was a hair's breadth away from going into full body shock. A gasp was heard emanating from somewhere to the left of Harry's line of vision. Before he could move, a forceful shove sent him flying to the ground.

"What did you do to my son?!" the voice snarled. Harry looked up to see the face of Narcissa Malfoy staring down at him, wand in hand, pure unadulterated hatred flickering in her eyes, a curse most likely ready to fly off the tip of her tongue.

Before he could explain himself, Tonks interceded, standing behind him, wand trained on the former Black. "He didn't do anything," she said crisply. "We thought we heard fighting, so we came by to investigate. Clearly we were mistaken; nothing out of the ordinary going on over here, is there, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa's eyes flickered between Harry and her son before she looked back at the auror, "Yes, clearly you were mistaken," she repeated stoically, "there seems to be nothing to see here, though, rest assured, your concern is duly noted. Good day, Auror Tonks. Mr. Potter." Her tone spoke of dismissal and finality. They didn't need another hint, so with that, the two bolted from the scene. Only when they were back, safely on the streets of Diagon Alley, did Harry speak.

"Should I even ask what the hell that was all about?"

"Pureblood semantics," she offered. "Don't ask, don't tell. Maybe it was our duty as decent human beings to help him, but once his mum got there, the rules of human decency are thrown out the window. They take care of their own; she'll get him help."

Harry shook his head, not understanding the pride that entailed being a pureblood, whatsoever. "Wonder who did that to him in the first place?" Tonks simply shrugged, still a bit shaken up by the state they'd found Malfoy in; the two could only speculate what could've befallen the Malfoy heir. They rejoined the larger group in the Leaky Cauldron as planned and had a brief lunch before flooing back to headquarters. All the while, Harry couldn't shake the image of a beaten and bloodied Draco Malfoy from his mind.

August 6, 1996

Harry was more than a little surprised to see that Snape was conspicuously absent among the number of those attending the Order meeting. It had been one week since his explosive encounter with the potions professor, and while he had no interest in seeing the man's face again anytime soon (if ever again), he still found his absence peculiar. A small part of his subconscious told Harry that perhaps the coward was avoiding having to face him, but the rational part of his brain knew not to give himself so much credit; loathsome as he was, Harry had to admit that Snape was not one to be intimidated easily.

Having been kicked out of the kitchen a short while ago, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were currently occupying the drawing room, all lost in their own little worlds. Harry was reclined on the sofa, absentmindedly catching and releasing the tiny golden winged ball they'd given him with one hand, _Lost Magick and Forgotten Ways_ fanned open in the other. The comfortable silence that spanned the room was effectively broken as the door was flung open, two identical figures marching in.

"Fred! George!" Ginny exclaimed, getting up from her seat to embrace her brothers. Harry saw a dark expression pass between the two as they returned her hugs, but he was unable to decipher the meaning.

After Ron gave his brothers an equally as enthusiastic greeting he asked, "What're you two doing here?"

"We" Fred said, pointing between the two of them, "are here – "

"For the Order meeting," George finished.

"Blimey, mum let you two join?" Ron asked amazed that she would allow such a thing to occur. The ear-to-ear grins that both twins were sporting let the others know that she'd most definitely _not_ given them permission.

"Well, dear brother, I wouldn't say she 'let us join' so much as I'd say she 'couldn't stop it from happening', considering that – "

"She didn't know until we were already in. And by then, it was too late!" the twins laughed, high-fiving one another. "Anyway, the meeting's over, so we wanted to stop by and say 'hi' before we left – "

"And we'll need to borrow Harry for a moment, too." Without waiting for an answer, they ushered Harry towards the door with them. "Ta-ta for now!"

Once the trio was safely in the hallway, away from prying ears, the twins rounded on Harry. "Greetings, partner in crime!"

"Hey, Fred. George. How's business?"

"Oh, it's going swimmingly, if I do say so myself."

"And he does say so himself. All the time in fact. It's his pick-up line nowadays."

"You weren't complaining when it worked with those two Bulgarian girls, were you?"

"Not until the next morning when my watch was gone and left thigh felt a bit itchy." Harry cleared his throat, interrupting the twins. "Oh, right. Harry," said Fred. "We wanted to give you this," he said as he pulled out a small satchel from his robes and handed it to Harry.

"We've started a new line, completely defense related, inspired by your little association last term. Thought you might like to try some of it out." Harry opened the bag to inspect the contents.

"Darkness powder, hat shields, eavesdropping devices, all sorts of useful items."

Harry was thoroughly impressed. "Wow, thanks guys. How much do I owe you?" But Fred and George shook their heads.

"Nah, mate, on the house." Harry made to protest, but neither twin would have any of it, so he reluctantly acquiesced to accepting the gift, thanking them.

"Why not just give it to Ron or Ginny, though?"

"Eh, our brother wouldn't know what to do with half this stuff if we gave it to him."

"Besides, we're counting on you continue our legacy at Hogwarts."

"As for Ginny," a nervous look passed between the two, "that's probably not a good idea either."

"She worked at the shop for a while at the beginning of the summer."

"Before mum decided that it was too dangerous."

"We wanted to let you know – "

"To be careful when you accept anything edible from her."

"Wait, what? Why?" Harry queried in confusion, "she's not trying to poison me or anything, is she?" he asked, half jokingly.

"Oh, no my dear fellow, not poison," George assured.

"Unless you consider slipping you unauthorized potions as poisoning. Then yes, maybe she's going to poison you."

George elaborated before Harry could respond with another question. "She was really interested in our WonderWitch line while she was working there."

"Which is nothing out of the ordinary, that's what all girls are interested in when they come into our shop."

"But we caught her filching some love potion from the backroom one day."

"Not just any love potion, our top of the line stuff."

"It's highly expensive, and highly effective."

"We're not sure if you'd be able to fight it off."

Harry was just as bewildered as he was when the conversation started. "That's terrible, her stealing, but what's that got to do with me?"

Fred looked at Harry, "Boy, you really are thick aren't you?"

"Who else would our Gin-Gin try to slip love potion to? Lupin? Kingsley? Maybe Snape? I don't suppose she has a thing for greasy hair and crooked noses."

"What my brother is trying to say is, there's not many people to choose from; you're the only boy her age around here that's not directly related to her."

"Yea, but she could just be saving it for the start of term. Loads of boys will catch her fancy then," Harry replied stubbornly.

George laughed. "Yes, but none of them would need the help of a love potion to pay attention to her, would they?"

"No hormonal teenage boy would turn down the advances of a girl."

"Well, except for maybe this," George jerked a thumb in Harry's direction, "hormonal teenage boy."

"Harry, we know our sister."

"And she's fancied you for ages."

"We may not be the smartest blokes in town – "

"Speak for yourself. I _am_ the smartest bloke in town."

"But we can put two and two together."

"Just be careful about what you accept around her."

"We threw in some antidote in that bag for you for good measure."

"Wouldn't want our business partner to fall victim to our products, after all."

"Well, anyway, that's all we wanted to tell you."

"Hope you enjoy the new inventions in the bag."

"Let us know how they work out."

"Oh, and Harrykins – we saw the article in the Prophet; _nice catch_ – the jugs on that one!"

"Too right you are, brother. Little Harry's all grown up. Anyway goodbye for now, Harry, you dog, make us proud!" And with that, the twins left a very befuddled Boy-Who-Lived in their wake. Harry was uncertain whether or not he would be able to act normally around Ginny, given his newfound knowledge, so he skipped returning to the drawing room in favor of the kitchen, as the meeting had been adjourned some time ago.

He looked around the room, hoping to spot Tonks, Fleur, or even Remus. But before he could approach any of them, he was accosted by a gnarled hand.

"Potter!" Moody barked. "What did I tell you about constant vigilance? Didn't take my advice, and where it's landed ya – caught with your trousers around your ankles, spread across the front page of the Prophet! Weren't even on the lookout for other people, were ya? And the girl! She could've been a Death Eater! A spy! Anything! If Voldemort finds out that all it takes to get ya is a pretty face, a bat of an eyelash, and a tight arse – "

"_Alastor_!" Mrs. Weasley interrupted, aghast.

"Harry." He turned to see Dumbledore peering over at him. Though he didn't really want to talk to the Headmaster, he most certainly would rather be _anywhere_ else than there, listening to Mad-Eye talk about tight arses and such. He bolted, mentally steeling himself for the ensuing encounter.

"Headmaster," he said simply, albeit gratefully.

"I was wondering, Harry, if you would accompany me to the living room for a short while." Whatever he wanted to discuss, he didn't want to do it in front of other people. Harry internally sighed.

"Of course, sir." He let himself be led back out through the swinging door that he'd just entered from. As Dumbledore walked past him, Harry immediately noticed the older man's right hand looked, for lack of a better word, charred, and somewhat shriveled. The blackened skin caused for the only piece of jewelry he had adorned, a large gold ring with gemstone in the center, to standout in stark contrast to the decrepit hand. It was unsettling to Harry, but he said nothing.

Taking a seat directly across from Dumbledore, who had chosen to sit in an armchair in the center of the room, Harry simply stared across a coffee table, waiting for the Headmaster to speak first. After a long silence, he finally sighed wearily and said, "Harry, are you so upset with me that you have nothing to say?" At least the Headmaster recognized that Harry was upset with him, he gave him that much.

"With all due respect, sir, you asked me to accompany you to the living room. I was under the impression that maybe, you had something to say." He wasn't going to be intimidated by him. '_He's just an old man.'_

Dumbledore simply peered over his half-moon glasses at him and smiled. "I believe I did, didn't I? I was hoping, Harry, that we would be able to discuss your, ah, exchange," he put delicately, "with Professor Snape last week."

Harry had suspected as much. "I'm not sure what there is to discuss, Headmaster. He and I haven't gotten along since we've met. That's not likely to change anytime soon."

"Yes, Harry, that does seem to be the case. However, I was hoping that you would be mature enough to put aside such behavior, if for nothing else, then for the sake of the Order."

He could feel his blood begin to boil. "Professor Dumbledore, that exchange had nothing to do with my level of maturity, and _everything_ to do with the fact that he gave my parents up to save his own hide," he replied tersely.

"Ah, yes, perhaps you could indulge an old man by explaining where you came across such information? I do not believe you received the whole story."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't see how _where_ I learned that from matters in any way. But if you're convinced I don't know the full story, then, please, by all means, maybe you could tell it to me."

"Professor Snape has put himself in danger many times for our cause, Harry."

"And my parents died for our cause, Professor. Again, I don't see the relevance of such statements to the issue at hand. The fact of the matter is, Snape is a bigot, and he's had a personal vendetta out against me since day one. And instead of anyone reprimanding him, his behavior has gone unopposed."

"You must understand, Harry, that I was simply giving Professor Snape the opportunity to overcome his dislike for your father. He must learn on his own to prevail over his weaknesses."

Harry just shook his head, furious. "I don't think you get it, Professor Dumbledore. He's not going to learn. A person can be on your side but still be a terrible person. You might have high hopes for Snape, but I wouldn't bet anything on his integrity. And frankly, sir, it makes me question _your_ judgment if you can't see that."

Dumbledore looked at Harry and said sharply, "Perhaps you forget yourself, Harry, and to whom you are speaking to. Do not think so loftily as to believe that you are in any position to question my judgment."

"No, Headmaster, I know exactly who I'm speaking to. I'm speaking to a man who has time and time again asked me to grant him my trust. I am simply saying, now, that maybe I can longer afford to give you my trust so freely when your judgment is so clouded." He refrained from saying anything more. Harry yearned to lash out at the Headmaster, to scream at the man for meddling so much in his life, to accuse him of being blind to the faults of certain people, to not care about who he was wronging, but he held back. He didn't spend long hours reading chapters of the book on propriety for nothing. Moreover, he remembered Sirius' statements about Dumbledore, about how the man had the right idea, if, unfortunately, the wrong execution of such notions; and Sirius had yet to steer him wrong, even from the grave.

Professor Dumbledore stared on with doleful eyes, "I am sorry, Harry," he stated heavily, "that you feel that I have misjudged things so profoundly that you no longer see it fit to place your trust in me." He was trying to guilt him again. "Is there anything I can do to rectify the situation?"

Harry looked unconvinced; Dumbledore was trying to manipulate forgiveness out of him, that much was clear, but maybe he would be able to get something out of it as well. "Just stop keeping secrets from me, Professor," he said eventually. "If I'm as necessary to this war as everyone keeps saying I am, then I think I deserve to know what's going on. I'm not a child anymore."

Dumbledore sighed wearily once more. This was not how he'd hoped for the conversation to progress. "No, I suppose, you are not a child any longer. My hope was to shield you from such a heavy burden for as long as I could, but circumstances beyond our control, it seems, have made that an impossibility. I accept your terms, Harry. No more secrets." Seeing the unconvinced look still on Harry's face, Dumbledore added, "is there something you would like to ask me, Harry? As a test of good faith, perhaps?"

He blurted out the first question that came to mind, "What happened to your hand?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly at Harry. "I'm afraid that this the one question that I cannot fully supply an answer for at the moment." Harry's expression darkened. "But, if you would accompany me on an errand, perhaps the result will give you all the answer you need."

Though skeptical, Harry agreed to the adventure. He wasn't fooling himself; he knew that a man as used to concealing information as Dumbledore wasn't likely to change his ways, but all the same, it was a step in the right direction. "I shall come by to collect you for the task sometime next week." He just nodded.

"If there is nothing else you need from me…" Harry wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible.

"There is one last thing, Harry." The young man waited for Dumbledore to continue. "I thought I should let you know that I have spoken to Minister Scrimgeour recently, and he has adamantly demanded to meet with you. I denied his requests on your behalf, as he, no doubt, will want some sort of press coverage surrounding the meetings, and I daresay you have had enough of that in the recent weeks, have you not?" The professor said, eyes twinkling once more.

Harry met the Headmaster's gaze. Where did he get off, denying any sort of requests on his behalf? "I'll agree to meet with him." Dumbledore's face contorted into an expression of immediate disapproval.

"Harry, I do not think it wise for you to – "

"The wizarding world needs to see a united front in the war effort right now, Professor," Harry interjected, "I may not be the most astute, but I know that now, more than ever, people are counting on us to work together. So, even if that means that I have to pretend to get along with the minister, I'll do it for the sake of 'our cause' as you say."

"Very well, Harry. If that is what you think is best, I will not try to stop you. But let me just give you a word of warning, Harry. The world of politics is no place for a schoolboy; I have seen the most skilled of men fall victim to its machinations. I'll leave you tonight with that in mind. Be ready to come along on a mission with me sometime soon." Dumbledore left the room, considerably more displeased than when he had first entered.

August 17, 1996

It was late into the evening, with most of the occupants of Grimmauld Place already asleep, save three teenagers, who were sitting on the floor of the expansive library. Harry's level of frustration mounted to on all time high as he chucked the thin leather notebook across the room, though he immediately regretted his action; it wasn't the book's fault that he was failing quite miserably at his endeavor. At first, he'd managed to achieve all the levels of progress with relative ease; his father's notes would explain how to perform the action, and Harry would end up with results as described in his notes. Everything was going perfectly well until he got to stage five of the process, which stated, quite vaguely, _'Sirius, Peter, and I finally got the meditation down pat, so we've decided to just go ahead and get on with it;_ anima verto_ to change, _homanus verto_ to go back. Simple enough. Here's hoping we don't kill ourselves.'_ The passage following it, said, equally as unhelpfully, _'Good news/bad news. Good news is, it worked! Bad news: Peter's a rat, and I'm a bloody deer… a _deer_. Well, I have antlers, so technically I'm a stag, but really? Sirius gets to be a great big scary mongrel, and I'm a prancing ponce. How is this going to help Remus? I stand there as bait to distract him while Sirius tries to hold him off? That is, when he isn't trying to eat me, too – the bloody bastard almost gnawed my leg off during the first transformation. Then, the stag in me did what it had to do and practically gored him – there's a reason why doing this without supervision is illegal…'_

The process, Harry discovered, was only lengthy because the Marauders had to find the information on their own. Given that his father had compiled it all in one place, Harry and his friends avoided that hurdle nicely. They also found out that the transformation was illegal outside of ministry supervision only for the very reason that James had described; whatever animal the wizard turns into temporarily takes over their thoughts and instincts, leading to sticky situations like accidentally gnawing off a friend's leg. Legality aside, it didn't take much convincing to get Ron and Hermione on board: Ron jumped at the opportunity to become an animagus, and Hermione's penchant for knowledge trumped her misgivings towards any issues of legality.

"Maybe we should just take a break," Hermione said, trying to calm her friend down. "I mean, we've progressed really quickly, Harry." Ron nodded, fidgeting at the tense feelings in the room.

He shook his head, "it only took them a week after figuring the steps out to change successfully, and that's with schoolwork to worry about. We've been at it nonstop for way longer. I'm messing something up, I know it."

Hermione looked thoughtfully, "Do you think maybe it's the wandwork?" The motion _was_ a rather complex one, Harry had to admit, but he wasn't convinced that was the issue; having become rather adept at spellchaining in his practices with Tonks and Fleur, he was confident in that regard.

Harry walked over to the book and picked it up, skimming the pages for the umpteenth time. "There's got to be something we're missing." His friends were silent.

After a moment, Hermione hesitantly supplied the question that was lurking in the back of everyone's minds, "What if we just don't have forms, Harry?"

He looked up from the book. He wasn't angry at the insinuation; it was a valid question. Not _all_ wizards had an animal counterpart, and this was a fact that he'd mulled over in his head quite often in the last few weeks. However, his conclusion was always the same. "If a sorry excuse for a wizard like _Wormtail_ can have a form, then we do, too," he stated resolutely. "Even if he is a rat," he added, taking a jab at the traitor. After all, the smaller your animal, the less magically capable you were. Harry was quite proud that his father was as large of an animal as he was after learning this fact.

"Here, let me see that for a second, then." Harry handed her the notebook. She read the pages over for a half an hour before she said anything else. Meanwhile, Ron beat Harry in a game of chess, twice. "Guys, listen to this: _'at first, I wanted to blame Peter for messing something up when he transfigured me. I mean, I changed Sirius, and he got a pretty good deal… but then, we found out that the type of animal is determined by our personality, and its size matches with magical ability. I knocked Sirius down a few pegs, I think, when I pointed out that my stag form was the biggest of the three of us. I wonder what this says about Peter? Even for a rat, he's on the small side…'_"

Hermione looked excited. It was the exact same expression that her twelve-year-old face had when she found the name Nicholas Flamel. "You haven't been doing anything wrong, Harry, I think the problem is that you can't perform this spell on yourself; you have to get someone else to do it for you." Harry and Ron both looked happy in light of the new development, but Harry's face quickly reverted back to a frown.

"But I'm the only one out of the three of us right now that can use my wand. Unless…" he paused and turned to Ron. "You grew up with older brothers; how does the age restriction work? Does it track the wand or the wizard?"

Ron looked bewildered for a moment, not fully understanding where he was going with this, but answered after a brief silence, "I don't really know, mate. I guess the ministry tracks the wand? They can't really track the wizard, can they? Not in a house full of them. When we were little, the twins turned my things into spiders a lot," he paled at the memory. "They stole Dad's wand to do that, now that I think of it."

Harry looked elated. "Brilliant. We can just use my wand then!" The three decided that, worst-case scenario, if their theory was wrong, that Ron or Hermione would only receive a warning, as neither of them had been reprimanded before. Nonetheless, Hermione made the observation that perhaps Harry should cast the spell first, considering it was his wand, and, it would, therefore, respond the most effectively to him. He didn't like the idea of making one of his friends the guinea pig, but understood the logic.

"Ok, so who wants to go first?" he asked. Both parties looked reluctant to volunteer. Eventually, Ron stepped up, his anticipation palpable.

"What's the worse that could happen," he joked nervously. Harry refrained from answering that _lots _of bad things could potentially happen.

Instead he just said, "Alright, then. Ready?" Ron nodded, fidgeting once more, bracing himself. Hermione instinctively took a step backwards as Harry started the incantation

"_Animus verto,_" and with a final, diagonal slash, a white beam of light hit Ron in the chest, causing him to start shrinking almost immediately. A moment later, in his place, stood a small, no larger than a Pomeranian, red-furred warthog. Hermione squealed, making her way toward the animal. The miniature warthog squealed back in alarm and promptly disappeared. Harry and Hermione both looked dumbfounded, staring at the spot that Ron, or rather, Ron as a warthog, had just occupied. The animal reappeared a moment later, cowering in the far corner of the room. Both Harry and Hermione approached him slowly, but, like any animal being backed into a corner would, the warthog snorted, throwing his tusks back, preparing to charge.

"Harry, turn him back," Hermione whispered urgently. Harry did just that, with not a second to spare, as the spell hit the animal just as it moved to rampage. A moment later, a normal sized Ron tumbled over himself, less than a meter away from his two friends. He grabbed his head and moaned at the dull throbbing feeling behind his eyes.

"Ron, that was outstanding!" Hermione exclaimed.

"What's so outstanding about it?" he replied glumly, "I'm a bloody warthog."

Hermione shook her head in disagreement. "You're not a _warthog_, Ron," she said, though she _did_ see the irony, and would have laughed were she not in full lecture mode. "You look like one, but you _became invisible_ when you saw us; you're a tebo! Oh, magical creatures are so rare! I don't even know if there's a registered one alive right now. What's it feel like? Did the animal instincts take over like the notes said? Of course it did, or else you wouldn't have just disappeared – does it hurt?" she jabbered away excitedly, positively teeming with questions.

Ron sat up a little straighter, puffing his chest out slightly upon hearing that he was a tebo. Not only did he have an animal counterpart, he had a _magical _one. "Well, it didn't hurt too badly, I s'pose," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's the strangest feeling though. One minute I'm me, and the next, everything started looking taller. Smells were a little strong, and the noises were way too loud. I think I got spooked, and I guess I became invisible, right? I wasn't really controlling it though; my brain just kind of did whatever it thought it was supposed to."

"_Could_ you control it if you'd tried, though?" Harry asked, trying to figure out how the process worked. Ron shrugged.

"Dunno. Didn't really get a chance to get my bearings. I'm not sure if I could've stopped myself from trying to take out your shins though," Ron said apologetically.

Harry just grinned, "S'alright, you'll get it next time." He looked at Hermione, who seemed a lot more certain about taking part than before, now that she'd just witnessed a rather successful trial. "Ready, 'mione?" She nodded. He repeated the spell and watched as she slowly morphed into a winged creature. She had a sharp yellow beak, large brown eyes that were shifting back and forth to take in all the objects in the room, and a body full of dark brown feathers, a little fluffier than a normal bird of prey. Harry easily recognized her form as a peregrine falcon, the fastest bird in existence. Neither he nor Ron made any sudden movements, learning from their previous experience.

After a few moments, Ron let out a shaky, "Hermione?" The bird turned its head sharply in the direction of the noise, unfurling its wings, perceiving the sound as danger. She shot up, faster than any bird Harry had ever seen before, and in the blink of an eye, landed haphazardly on the light fixture hanging form the ceiling. Because the room had such high ceilings, Harry didn't think it prudent to try and change her back in her current position; she'd fall quite a ways. Instead, the boys had to try and coax the bird back down, while it stared below, quizzically, at the two bumbling teenagers who were making awkward cooing noises.

Slowly, her conscious mind, which had, until that point, been busy taking every aspect of the room she was in, started to feel a bit hazy. The faces below seemed familiar to the bird, but she couldn't discern how or why. Bit by bit, the fog lifted as she sat, perched upon the ceiling fixture. Eventually, she swooped down, landing delicately in front of the black haired boy and looked at his face, cocking her feathery head to the side. She let out a piercing shriek of recognition, and flapped her wings enthusiastically, ruffling her feathers.

"_Homanus verto._" Hermione reappeared, sitting cross-legged in front of Harry, Cheshire grin adorning her face.

"Did you see??" she asked, reminiscent of a child who had just completed a particularly arduous task.

Both boys smiled. "Yea, Hermione, we saw. You were brilliant," Harry assured her, taking a seat next to his friend.

Ron chimed in, "And bloody hell, you _flew_. You don't even like flying on brooms!"

"Well this is a bit different, Ron," she said defensively, "there's not the likelihood that _my wings_ are going to fall off – can't say the same about a broom, can I?"

Harry shook his head, not wanting to witness a pointless argument, interceded, "It looked like you figured out who we were pretty quickly. What's that like?"

She recounted the feelings magnificently, elaborating on how it felt like a fog was lifting from her thoughts, rather than a battle of wills between her rational mind and her baser instincts. "It's a lot like waking up from a dream," she compared, "it just takes a moment before you figure out where you are and what's going on." Harry shifted his weight anxiously, impatiently wanting to experience it for himself. Hermione picked up on that fact quickly.

"You want to give it a go, Harry?" He all but jumped to his feet in response. A quick exchange between Hermione and Ron concluded with Hermione holding Harry's wand.

Ron merely shrugged, "Between me and Hermione, I don't think it takes a genius to figure out who would be less likely to muck it up," he explained plainly. So, she took a deep breath, mentally saying a little prayer that, a) she wouldn't somehow screw up, and b) that their theory about underage magic was correct. Harry showed her the arm motion one last time before she pointed the wand at him and uttered the spell.

The first thing that caught Harry's attention was the tingling sensation that he felt spread throughout his body. Though not an altogether unpleasant sensation, he wasn't keen on wanting it to last. Luckily, other observations began to override the strange feeling, as his eyesight sharpened considerably, his line of vision was no longer quite as high, and the smells of the room overwhelmed him. The last lucid thought he had in his mind was that standing on all fours was much more comfortable than he'd thought it would be.

Ron and Hermione watched their friend's transformation with bated breath. He shrank a tiny bit in size. His face elongated into a snout as his body grew shaggy fur. His hands and feet turned into paws, forcing his body into a recumbent position. When his transformation was complete, Hermione's first reaction was to compare him to a larger version of Padfoot, but when her face met his eyes, still green, his facial construction changed her mind quickly. A snarl was etched into the animal's expression, baring its rather long, sharp teeth. Its pointed ears looked more like those of a werewolf's, but were supplanted on this abnormally large canine instead. Its paws were massive, disproportionately large, in fact, with gleaming claws attached. She backed away slowly, wand in hand forgotten. The redhead stood, rooted to the spot, eyes wide in fear, but upon seeing Hermione's movement, began to do the same.

The canine, if you could call it that, growled at the actions, and stalked slowly towards the retreating teens, eyes glowing menacingly. Soon, they were backed into a corner with nowhere left to turn, beast approaching in the same, slow stalking manner. Both called out his name, but to no avail. Ron valiantly tried to place himself in between Hermione and animal, as if his body would last for a second against those claws. With less than a meter between Harry and the two human bodies, Ron closed his eyes and braced himself, wincing at the thought of being torn to shreds by his best friend.

The sounds coming from the other two figures in the room sounded foreign to Harry. They were clearly gesticulating _at_ him, but he couldn't discern what they were saying. He stalked closer, sniffing the air, taking in the familiar scents. His mouth watered at the thought of taking a large bite out of the brown haired one, but the skinnier, not as appetizing, red-haired person was standing in the way – no matter; he could take care of him easily. Yet, the closer he got, the more insistent the nagging voice in his head became, the one that was telling him he _shouldn't_ try to sink his teeth into the flesh of the other creatures. He stopped, snout centimeters away from the male's cheek. As he breathed in, he caught a whiff of grass and fabric; the nagging part of his mind was louder than ever. Torn between capturing his prey and falling victim to the commanding voice, he opened his jowls. A second later, Ron felt something wet run along his face.

"Urgh," was his only response as he wiped the saliva off with his shirt. He opened his eyes to see the black beast sitting in front of him, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. Harry decided that the redhead tasted even less appetizing than he looked. Hermione stepped out from behind Ron, approached the animal hesitantly, and patted it on its head. It closed its eyes in contentment as she scratched behind his ears. She withdrew her hand and transformed him back into a human. A moment later, Harry was back, eyes still closed, a small smile on his lips, relishing in the feeling of being scratched. He shook his head, snapping back to reality, and opened his eyes.

His friends' eyes were comical in size. Harry looked at the two, a bit baffled at their reactions. "You're a fucking hellhound!" Ron blurted out, a bit fearfully.

"Ronald! Language!" Hermione said sharply. Harry looked alarmed; he thought he was simply a large dog. "Though he was a bit rude, I think he might be right," Hermione conceded, "you might be a hellhound. Or a barghest," she supplied thoughtfully. When she was met with blank stares, she explained, "A barghest, you know, like a grim, but not. You'll only be able to tell the difference if you can do a few other things too, like disappear with the shadows… Or transform into a bear." She sounded so matter-of-fact; Harry choked.

"Shadows? A bear?" he sputtered.

Before she could reply, Ron inserted, "but hellhounds and barghests… aren't those dark creatures?" Hermione shot him a pointed look, but didn't refute his question. Harry's heart plummeted; so, he was a dark creature?

She then gazed upon Harry with a concerned expression, "we're not even sure if that's what you are yet, exactly. Why don't we figure it out before we jump to conclusions?" He tried to let her words reassure him, but Harry subconsciously already knew that further research wouldn't change the conclusion.

Ron tried to salvage the situation, "at least you're a magical creature, too, right?" he offered weakly. Somehow, it wasn't much of a consolation to Harry. Hermione directed the conversation away from theorizing about Harry's form by talking about where they would go from there; now that they had all transformed successfully, there was a lot of work ahead of them, by way of controlling their instincts while in animal mode, as well as learning to shift back and forth without the aid of a wand. Regardless, Harry was still rather glum due to the implications of his form, recalling his father's words about Wormtail's rat animagus. _But what does this say about _me_?_

Harry decided that he needed a little time alone to think, excusing himself by claiming that he was hungry, and went off into the direction of the kitchen. Ron and Hermione were both skeptical of his statement, but didn't argue, letting him go, knowing that he'd want to be left alone for a while.

Upon entering the kitchen, he saw the last person he wanted to face at the moment, though, on the bright side, her presence momentarily banished all thoughts of barghests and hellhounds out of his mind. Tonks was sitting on a barstool, leaning on the island with a glass in hand, staring off into space, not even noticing a second occupant in the room.

Earlier that day, she had cut short their usual all-day Saturday hang outs with the announcement that she had a date that night, and she had to go get ready. He attributed his immediate distaste for the notion to the sole fact that it was cutting into their Saturday routines, _not_ that he found the idea of her dating reprehensible, no, no. She could date whomever she wanted to, he thought savagely as he took a hard swing at Bert's head. He didn't allow for his aversion towards the matter to show, though, at least not to too great of an extent. He just stiffly told her that he hoped she would have a good time, and left shortly thereafter, muttering something about work that needed to be done; he didn't say that the only work he was planning on doing would be to work out his frustration on Bert's poor, already battered, wooden body.

Now, seeing her again, clearly back from aforementioned date, Harry had half a mind to simply turn around and leave before she realized he was there. However, he stopped himself, a few curious thoughts whizzing about in his mind. First, she was still dressed for a date, with a red, backless, halter-top dress that clung to her body, stopping at the knee; she was breathtaking. He shook the lewd images that accompanied his current train of thought out of his mind. Besides, he was also mildly concerned that her hair was a dark brown, hanging in ringlets partway down her back; since he'd known her, she'd only ever had dark hair in the few days following Sirius' death, preferring brighter, more cheerful pigments. Lastly, that she was back already, made him question what could have cut the date short, though he mentally berated himself for feeling slightly elated at the fact. _I shouldn't be relishing in her discomfort._ And her body language, indeed, screamed of discomfort and despondence.

So, against his better judgment, he approached her, plopping down in the barstool next to the one she was sitting in. Finally taking notice of his presence, Tonks inclined her head in his direction. "Wotcher, Harry." Even her tone matched her subdued hair color.

"Hullo, Tonks, how goes it?"

She snorted, taking a gulp of amber liquid out of her tumbler. "It's barely past midnight on a Saturday, and I'm sitting in the kitchen drinking alone. How do you think it goes?" she responded forlornly.

So, maybe it was a dumb question. He tried to think of something to say to try and brighten her mood. "Yea, well, I just almost ate my best friends," was all he could muster up.

Tonks' eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. She slid her glass over into his direction, "you win," she replied. He'd already told her about his attempts at becoming an animagus, so she wasn't bewildered at the strangeness of the statement, though her eyes brightened considerably. "Oh, but that means you finally did it! Congratulations, Harry! What are you?? I bet you're a jungle cat of some kind, that's always been my suspicion."

Harry shook his head, draining the glass. "I wish; that would make things loads easier. We don't even know what the bloody hell I am." At her confused look, he added, "We think I might be a hellhound _or_ a barghest. As if it mattered if I was one or the other. I'm a bloody monster, either way." Tonks mind reeled at the thought. Had she not known Harry so well, she would've been inclined to say that he must be mistaken; _nobody_ could be either of those things, it was simply unheard of. All the same, because she _did_ know Harry, and knew that he wouldn't say such a thing unless it were true, she didn't protest.

Instead, she gave a low whistle, "Never a dull moment with you, is there, Mr. Potter?" They were good enough friends for her to realize when it was the time to pry and ask questions, and when it was appropriate to just stay quiet and simply offer pleasant company. This was an instance of the latter, and it spoke volumes to her level of understanding of the young man to be able to differentiate between the two.

"No," he agreed, "but, oh, what I wouldn't give for a dull moment or two."

She shook her head ruefully, "nah, I wouldn't waste energy on that; us dull folk don't really have it put together either. Course," she added, "our problems are more along the lines of 'dealing with disastrous dates' and less to do with 'possibly devouring our friends', but, ya know, it is what it is."

Harry chuckled in spite of himself, "I wouldn't be so hasty to categorize myself in the 'regular folk' group, if I were you, Nymphadora." He ignored the hateful glare she sent him at the usage of her given name. "But, I'll humor you; tell me, what kind of disastrous dates do you dull folk have to put up with?" His mood had lifted considerably at the thought of her night ending poorly, even though he knew that it was in poor taste to feel satisfaction at her expense.

Tonks' nose wrinkled in disgust at the memory, taking the empty glass from Harry's hand and refilling it. "Oh, just the garden variety, I'm sure you know the kind; where you're on a date with a perfectly respectable bloke… and his wife shows up to ruin it," she said in an overly light tone of voice. Giving him a sideways glance, "No? Not familiar with the sort? Just me then? Lovely," she finished dryly, taking another swig from her glass.

Harry didn't know if he was supposed to laugh at her statement or not, but was more than a little fearful of her reaction, so he refrained. "Well, I can't say that I've ever been on a date with a bloke before, so I don't really know how that's supposed to go, but I take it that he's _not_ supposed to have a wife, for starters."

"No," she huffed, "he most certainly is not." He grabbed the glass from her hand, as she was liable to crack it in half just by the grip she had on it. "Or at least he should have the decency to let a girl know before the third bloody date" she said roughly, forgoing the glass altogether and just taking pulls straight from the bottle at this point. "He better hope I don't see him at work anytime soon," she said abruptly.

Under different circumstances, Harry might've felt sorry for the poor bastard, but as it was, he really couldn't have cared less if Tonks castrated the guy, which was exactly what her tone was implying she would do upon seeing him again. In all fairness, though, Harry blanched at the thought. "He's an auror, too, then?"

Tonks shook her head furiously, "Absolutely not! _Robert_," she spat, "works for the Department of Magical Games and Sports. That should've been red flag number one; they're all sleazy bastards over there, every last one of them. To think, I was going to see if he wanted to come to the world cup with me. Ugh," she looked nauseated at the thought; or, perhaps, from the large amounts of liquor she was consuming. Either way, she proceeded to rest her forehead against the cool marble countertop of the island to quell her sudden dizziness. She felt a hand on her lower back, moving in small, soothing circles. She turned her head, touching her right cheek to the counter, so that she could look over at Harry.

He'd intended to simply pat her back sympathetically, really he did, but the second his fingers touched the smoothness of her skin, exposed by the lowness of her dress, he felt the need to keep the contact going, lewd thoughts that he'd so ardently tried to banish, returning to his mind. As she turned her head to make eye contact with him, her brown curls cascaded over her shoulders, flowing over his hands. The sensation the silkiness of her alabaster skin caused his mouth to go dry as she focused her startlingly clear, hazel irises upon him. It wasn't as if this was the first time he'd thought of her in a sexual way, far from it. The problem was that he harbored a suspicion that she only saw him in a brotherly manner, considering she never really hinted to any deeper feelings on her part. He rationalized that she was seven years older and in a completely different stage in her life; of course she couldn't possibly have an interest in a teenaged schoolboy. He exhaled shakily, forcibly removing his hand from her back before he gave into the urge of running his fingertips down her spine.

She shivered slightly at the loss of contact. As she stared at Harry, Tonks tried to read the expression on his face, usually able to do so with relative ease. Having spent so many waking hours with the young man in front of her in a very short amount of time, Tonks was quite proud to say that she knew more about him than most other people did. She'd seen him at his worst, at his best, hell, she'd seen him naked; but as she fixated her gaze upon his expression, his emotion was unreadable to her, a rare happening. The intensity of his stare, however, only magnified the dizziness she was feeling, even with her head laying down. "You can keep doing that, if you want. It feels nice." She wanted the contact to continue, _wanted_ the feeling of his calloused hands on her skin.

At first, Tonks attributed the desire she occasionally felt for Harry to the fact that she'd seen him in all sorts of compromising positions. Once those images were already planted in a person's head, it's much easier for them to manifest themselves… anyone in her position would feel the same way from time to time, right? But as the 'occasional' inappropriate thought turned into 'reoccurring' preoccupations, Tonks began to feel like a dirty old woman, lusting after a teenager. '_He wasn't even born in the same decade as you were! Does he even remember when Margaret Thatcher was elected? Was he even _alive_ when it happened? Is he even old enough to drive a car? Nymphadora, this just isn't right.'_ Her conscious was a bitch sometimes (it eerily sounded like Molly Weasley, if Tonks ever bothered to pay close enough attention to either voices to make the connection). And then, wouldn't you know it, fate, thankfully, or not, threw another wrench into the mix, in the form of Fleur Delacour.

Of the many faults that one could attribute to Nymphadora Tonks, obliviousness was not among them. _Of course_ she picked up on the flirtations between Harry and Fleur, how could she not? She was almost grateful for it; it was all the more reason for her to try to _not_ be affected by him in the way that she was. But all the same, her friend's possible interest in the young man quashed the impure thoughts of Tonks' treasonous mind for, oh, about a day and a half, before they came back with a vengeance. She sighed dejectedly, closing her eyes, as his fingers reclaimed their former spot on her lower back. Here she was, back from a date with a man who was able to keep her interest for more than just one evening – which was not a common occurrence for her – and he had the nerve to suddenly have a wife. And now, she was back to entertaining naughty thoughts about the perfectly sweet (though not without his own baggage) ridiculously wrong for her, teenager who was up keeping her company. Her love life was a wreck. She sighed once more.

Harry's concern for the state that his companion was in only grew as he sat there with her, his fingers dancing along her flesh. It wasn't often that Tonks, the most cheerful person Harry knew, exhibited such depressing behavior – how could such a normally happy person make a _sigh_ sound so dejected? Silence lapsed between the two, and after a few minutes, Harry questioned whether or not Tonks was even still awake. How much, exactly, did she have to drink?

"Tell me something, Harry," her voice cut through the stillness.

"Hm?"

"Tell me something," she repeated, "anything. So I can stop being all mopey. A poem, a limerick, a personal anecdote, anything."

"Er, ok… Um. There once was a man from Nantucket – "

Tonks' giggle interrupted him, "anything but that. And you can't use that one on me; I taught it to you!"

"So you did," he chuckled, "alright then. Can't rhyme to save my life, so personal anecdote it is. Have I told you that I have Dumbledore ticked off at me at the mo'?"

"No," she sounded vaguely intrigued, "do tell," her eyes opened to look at him, resting her cheek on her hand, elbow propped up on the counter, while he recounted the story.

"I kinda lost it on him the other day," he said sheepishly, continuing with his story. But Tonks was having a difficult time discerning what he was saying. For one thing, her head was beginning to spin… or was it the room that was doing the spinning? Secondly, she made the mistake of staring at his mouth, watching his lips move, in an effort to pay attention to what he was saying; now she was stuck thinking about how nice of a mouth he had. "…my defense…" she made a noncommittal noise, nodding her head at the snippet she'd caught as she zoned back into reality.

She supposed that he'd just said something he found to be clever or amusing, because his lips, those _damnable _lips, quirked into an easy grin. '_Stop that, Nymphadora; he's just a boy'_. Her conscious, bless its little heart, was trying to make a reappearance, it seemed. It would have been convincing, had it not slurred its words so much. Its next protest of _'he's sixteen'_ flittered through her mind, sounding remarkably like _'hishpean'_. 'Hishpean'? Ok, no more alcohol for you, Nymphadora.

"Huh? Wait, what?" she said dumbly.

"I said," Harry looked at her, an amused, cheeky smile on his face, "no more alcohol for you, 'dora. You were fading fast on me there. Was this full when you started?" He swirled the bottle in his left hand, only a third of the amber liquid remaining.

"Um. Maybe?" She truthfully didn't know.

"Well, maybe we should just get you to bed," he said, the amused look never leaving his face. She agreed. A bed would be positively delightful. Perhaps he would like to join? _'Hishpean!'_ That silly conscious of hers really ought to start making more sense if it wanted her to take it seriously.

Operation Get Tonks to Sleep, simple as it sounded, proved to be rather problematic. She was in no state to floo, let alone apparate, back to her flat, a fact that made itself abundantly clear as she got up off the barstool, only to sway dangerously into the counter, arm shooting out to brace herself. Why did she get herself so sloshed, again? Oh, right. Conniving married men. Moving on, then.

Harry grabbed Tonks by the waist to steady her swaying, amusement gone, replaced by alarm. "Tonks? You alright?" he asked softly.

She turned her head to face him, taking note of the fact that, he was standing awfully close to her. And with the heels that she was currently wearing, her eyes were level with the tip of his nose… which meant that they were mere centimeters away from his lips. Her eyes flickered down on their own volition. Yep. Lips were still there. His stupid mouth _had_ to go and be more appealing up close.

Seeing a queer expression momentarily flash across her face, Harry got a little nervous, worried she might throw up on him. "Tonks," he repeated, "Want me to get you something? Do'ya need a glass of water or…? Want me to walk you to the restroom…? The sink?"

"Harry," she said, same queer expression on her face – and was she staring at his mouth? "I want you to stop talking." And with that, she leaned up and captured his lips with her own. His mouth felt lovely pressed against hers. Who the hell bloody cares when Margaret Thatcher got elected, anyhow?

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Addressing points brought up by you guys:

**9aranoia**: I agree. The whole scene with Snape was kind of hard to write, but I ultimately figured that Harry is a sixteen year old: maybe he's allowed the occasional immature fight?

**Steel Griffin**: I don't think I'll write in a three-way, but there's going to be plenty of focus on relationship development of the binary sort. Hope it doesn't disappoint!

**Amaterasu-Black Flame**: Thanks! As for a Harry/Fleur/Tonks, trust me when I say that I would be horrible at writing something like that. Don't fret though, neither of those girls are going anywhere anytime soon.

**Lord Archeron**: Fleur stays. The summary says 'eventual H/T', so no surprises there, but this story's characters are starting to take a life of their own, so who knows what's going to happen between here and the end.

**Siven80**: The flashbacks are way harder to write than they're worth. At first, this story was kind of my exploration of time manipulation and continuity, but good lord, skipping around becomes complicated. I'll have a couple more in the next few chapters, so bear with me, but they're gone after that for sure. And I'm glad you enjoy this portrayal of Tonks, she's so underappreciated!

**To the above and everyone else who reviewed**: Gracias for the comments, some of you guys are just too kind! As always, reviews and constructive comments are appreciated!

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**Author's Note**: As a warning to you readers, I just want to put it out there that I'll probably only be able to get out one more chapter (hopefully) before updates slow down considerably. I fully anticipate my life getting ridiculously hectic between now and May, so I won't have as much time to devote to this story as I would like. Rest assured, I'm not abandoning this, but just don't be alarmed when the usual update every 3-5 days doesn't come. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: (1) not mine. (2) apologies for the rather lengthy a/n at the bottom.

Of Alliances and Attacks

August 17, 1996

Harry was quite certain that the sound of his head imploding in on itself could have been heard for miles around. One second, he was worrying about the efficacy of scouring charms and how they probably weren't going to be able to get the smell of vomit off of his shirt, and the next; nothing. Thoughts ceased. Tumbleweeds fluttered about the interior of his skull. All he could really notice was the fact that there was a pair of exceptionally soft lips currently latched onto his own, and, for a moment, that feeling was all he knew.

However, when his brain finally buckled down and decided it wanted to start working again, it did nothing but produce a series of patently unhelpful thoughts. The one that he eventually ended with though, was the notion that a very hot, but very drunk, Tonks was currently pressed up against his body. The former wasn't the issue, it was just a fact. It was the latter impression, however, that was cause for anxiety in poor Harry. _'Drunk, Potter! The girl's much too drunk! Reeks of alcohol – you've had enough experience with the stuff to know that you'd kiss a goat if you were properly sloshed!'_ His conscience's uncanny resemblance to Moody was unnerving. It got the point across, though. Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from Tonks, though kept his arm securely wrapped around her waist to steady the witch.

Her eyes were half-lidded, but the look quickly changed as they widened in shock and mortification. Her cheeks, already flushed by her current state of inebriation, colored further. She jerked away, but instantaneously realized the motion to be a mistake. Her normally clumsy disposition was only heightened, and, were it not for Harry, she would've been toppled over on the ground next to the barstool she'd just accidentally kicked over with a clatter.

"Shhhh!" She glared accusingly at the noisy stool. Harry tried to hold back a laugh, confusion momentarily forgotten, as he watched her get angry at the inanimate object, but the action convinced further convinced him that Nymphadora Tonks was most assuredly done drinking for the night.

"Want to spend the night in a guestroom here, 'dora?" he asked, trying to return to the initial task at hand. She just nodded, and the pair proceeded to head out of the kitchen.

Unfortunately, as Harry was quickly realizing, steering Tonks from point A to point B was much easier said than done. The journey up to the second floor was excruciatingly slow, punctuated by a groan emanating from Tonks, followed by, "Ugh. I don't feel so good, Harry." He hastened their pace to their destination, only to find the guestroom in question had a bed, but no sheets or covers. With Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Remus, and Fleur all currently inhabiting Grimmauld Place, there were no other rooms available. So, Harry resigned himself to leading his impaired companion to his room, which was so very inconveniently located on the fourth floor. The fifteen minutes it took for the two to go from the kitchen to the bedroom on the uppermost level of the house made Harry remind himself that he _really_ needed to learn how to apparate sometime soon.

Once safely inside the bedroom, Harry mentally patted himself on the back for completing the task without waking up the whole damn household, especially with the amount of stumbling and running into walls that went on. Knowing full well that Tonks was in no shape to be casting spells, he asked, "Want me to transfigure your dress into sleeping clothes?" His question was met by a quizzical look.

"Do you have any idea how much this bloody dress cost me? Too much for me to subject it to a bit of sketchy transfiguration, that's for sure!" He just stared blankly at her in response; there were some things about girls that he'd probably never understand. Their rationale about clothing would rank high among the list. All the same, he went over to his dresser and dug out an overly large shirt for her to borrow. Handing her the garment, he looked away for a moment to find pajamas of his own. By the time he turned back around, the aforementioned red dress was on the ground, pooled around Tonks' feet as she pulled her left arm through the proper sleeve of the large shirt, struggling for a moment. His initial reaction was to call her adorable, but as he took in the image of her form, dressed only in one of his shirts that reached mid-thigh, Harry found himself thinking of much less innocent adjectives to use to describe her; it may or may not have had a lot to do with the amount of leg she was currently showing. She really did have fantastically shapely legs, after all.

Tonks, completely unaware of her observer, unceremoniously flopped down onto the bed and went out like a light, not even bothering to get under the covers properly. Shortly thereafter, Harry joined her, though consciously making an effort to stay as close to the opposite edge of the mattress as physically possible. It wasn't a difficult endeavor, as the bed was uncommonly large. The part that proved to be difficult, however, was the drifting to sleep bit. Harry lay there, wide-awake, immersed in his thoughts for quite a long time. Try as he might to sort out his misgivings concerning his animagus form, Harry was admittedly more distracted by thoughts concerning the woman that was asleep just a half a meter away.

The issue at hand was that, up until this point, he really only sorted girls he knew into two categories: friends and shag buddies, and even at that, the latter was a fairly new development. The idea that those two groups could overlap in any way was basically inconceivable to Harry. After all, summer aside, how well versed was he in such matters? The girl he'd known the longest, by far, had to have been Hermione Granger, and he didn't exactly harbor deep, sexual desires for her… did the one instance of Susie Johnson holding him down and kissing him so she could give him cooties at the age of six really count?… or the Cho Chang train-wreck at the age of fifteen? Hardly. So, to Harry, you were either Hermione status, or you were lumped in with Megan, Hot Blond of Privet Drive; it was all quite simple, really.

But where did this leave Tonks? Or Fleur, for that matter? Maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to simply befriend such attractive witches; but, then again, how keen would either of the two have been on the idea of him wanting a shag when they'd first met? During the Triwizard Tournament? Oh, hello gorgeous, I'm gangly, fourteen and a bit on the peaky side, and you're currently every Hogwarts' aged boys' wet dream, but no worries, let's fuck. Better still, during the rescue from his relatives? What do you mean you don't fancy committing a felony in front of the entire Advance Guard with the horribly emaciated Boy-Who-Lived; where's your sense of adventure, woman?

And such was the state of Harry's mind as he drifted into a fitful sleep. Unfortunately, intermittent as it was, his rest was abruptly interrupted a few short hours later by a frantic looking Hermione Granger, who burst into the room, practically taking the door right off its hinges.

"Harry! There's been an attack! Dumbledore just called an emergency Order meeting down – " She cut herself off, taking in the scene before her. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going through the mind of Hermione Granger as her eyes darted back and forth between the figure of her shirtless best friend sitting up on the bed, and a groggily stirring woman dressed in only a shirt laying next to him. Before Harry could correct her misperception, however, she quickly stuttered, "Oh, s-sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to… er, I'll just tell Ron you'll be meeting us downstairs!" With that, she dashed out of the bedroom so quickly, Harry briefly thought that she must have had a bout of accidental magic to help her departure along.

Tonks groaned as she turned over to face Harry. "Did I accidentally fall asleep here last night?" she rasped. Her throat felt like a mix between the Sahara Desert and the underbelly of a firecrab.

"You mean you don't remember?" Harry was torn between amusement and uncertainty. He happily stored the experience away, considering that the next time they got into a teasing match, he'd be able to poke fun at her inability to hold her liquor. But, on the flip side, she didn't seem to have any recollection about kissing him, and his uncertainty stemmed from not knowing whether to be disappointed or relieved at the fact.

She simply groaned once more, holding the side of her head. "It'll come back to me. Usually always does, just gotta take care of the centaur tap dancing on my brain first."

"Right. Well, Hermione just said Dumbledore's called an emergency Order meeting," at this, Tonks reached for her wand, and muttered a spell. When the tip turned bright purple, her eyes widened in alarm, and she leapt out of bed. "Said something about an attack; could be bad if he's summoned you all at four in the morning."

"Code purple means the entire Order; I gotta get down there. Do you have a pair of shorts or anything I can borrow?" Harry threw a pair of athletic shorts her way as he put on a shirt and pair of jeans. "Thanks." In the blink of an eye, Tonks altered both the shirt and shorts into garments that fit her body, and the two headed out the door.

The kitchen was swarming with activity, with witches and wizards popping into the room, as well as pouring in through the floo network. Harry could count about two dozen people blearily present. Amidst the bustling, Dumbledore stood in the center of the room, locked in deep conversation with Mad-Eye. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny approached Harry with ashen looks on their faces. Hermione was also sporting furrowed eyebrows as she shot furtive glances between Tonks, hair back to a golden blonde, and Harry. Before any of the teens could say anything, however, Dumbledore's booming voice rang through the chatter. "If we could, friends, perhaps, we should settle down and commence." The drop in level of volume around the room was instantaneous, as was the reaction form Mrs. Weasley.

"You heard him, dears, we have a meeting to start. You children really shouldn't be awake yet, anyway. Come along, now, out with you," she fussed, as she attempted to shoo them out of the room.

Harry made to protest, but found, a second later, that he needn't have bothered. "I think, Molly, that it would be prudent for Harry to stay."

She turned and looked at the Headmaster with incredulity, "Albus! He's just a b-"

"After all," he cut in, "some of these matters do concern him," his tone was soft, but final.

The wheels in Harry's mind were spinning. What involving an attack could've concerned him? Unless… "Headmaster, has something happened to the Dursleys?"

"Fine, Harry can stay," Molly said shrilly, not giving a chance for anyone to respond, "but the rest of the children, OUT." She pushed Ron, Ginny, and Hermione out the door, much to their objection.

"Headmaster?" Harry repeated, still waiting for a reply.

"Yes, Harry," he said heavily, "among a number of other attacks, the Dursley household seems to have been targeted as well."

Harry swallowed. "Are they ok?"

"Let us discuss the expansive issues at hand before we delve into more specific topics, Harry," came the evasive response. "Mr. Shacklebolt, if you would, please, relay to the rest of the Order what you have told me."

Kingsley nodded and stood up from his chair, clearing his throat. "At approximately half past midnight tonight, the ministry sent an alert out to the aurors on-call requesting backup. I arrived at the supplied debriefing coordinates at a quarter to one. There, we were told that simultaneous, full-scale attacks were made at midnight on four locations: the homes of Rufus Scrimgeour, Amelia Bones, Gawain Robards, and Harry Potter," all eyes turned to Harry at the last statement.

Harry stood, rigid, processing the information. All the names mentioned were the people dubbed by the Daily Prophet as integral to the upcoming war; this coincidence was not lost upon anyone present. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Were there any survivors?"

"Casualties were had at all locations," Shacklebolt replied professionally, reading off the sheet of parchment in his hands. "The Minister survived. However, his wife and daughter were slain. Head Auror Robards was taken to the intensive care ward of St. Mungo's and appears to be holding on. Madame Bones' statement maintains that they were able to capture one of the six death eaters at her home, though her niece was hosting a slumber party, and, as such, many did not survive. Among the escaped death eaters was known a werewolf, who did a substantial amount of damage before fleeing; three girls were bitten, two are not likely to endure through the night. At Mr. Potter's presumed residence, four bodies were found, as well as a bulldog," his eyes skimmed the page as he added, "Auror Williamson reported a message written on the living room wall, but the report leaves out what was printed." The tension in the air was palpable, sleepiness seemingly forgotten by all parties present as they listened to the report.

Harry wanted to ask why, but the answer was clear. Voldemort was angry and he was making a statement. Numbness washed over him at the realization that his only remaining blood relative had been murdered earlier that night. Maybe there was no love lost between Harry and the Dursley's, but he couldn't help but feel that twinge of guilt over their deaths. And Marge… she had to have been the fourth body mentioned in the report, especially with the dog there. She was even more so an innocent bystander, vile as she was. It was all too much to process.

He looked around at the faces in the room. Many had looks of sympathy, others with looks of nausea. Everyone, however, looked frightened; Emmeline Vance was one thing, but this was the first, real, all-out attack of the second war, and it had those who were old enough to remember the first one on edge. "I want to go see them," he eventually said, "the Dursleys, I mean."

Dumbledore looked unsurprised, seemingly already aware that he would respond in such a manner. "Yes, that brings us to the second reason for our meeting. Some of us will be separating into four groups to visit these locations in search for any remaining clues or evidence that may be had. Others will go to St. Mungo's to offer assistance and possibly shelter for those whose homes have been decimated. However, I remind you all that it is advisable to be as discreet as possible." As the meeting adjourned, groups were formed, and Harry found himself grasping onto Dumbledore's arm, past anger between the two put on the side burner, as he side-apparated to Privet Drive, Elphias Doge and Nymphadora Tonks in tow.

As the four of them appeared with a quiet pop at the end of the street, Harry immediately noticed the lingering green mist of the Dark Mark directly above number four. The street was unnaturally crowded for such an early hour, with neighbors in bathrobes and slippers mulling around, whispering to one another. Three police vehicles barricaded the driveway, each shinning spotlights onto the house, and bright yellow tape roped off the lawn that Harry had been so acquainted with. "Come along, Harry, we must be quick about this."

"Headmaster, won't the muggles see us? And the bobbies are never going to let us through." Dumbledore, rather than supply a verbal response, simply cast a disillusionment charm on everyone, and Harry felt the familiar sensation of egg yolk running over his head. Weaving through the various members of the crowd, Harry tried to listen to the myriad of conversations being had, but the blood pounding in his ears made that rather impossible. Once the four reached the front steps, they shimmied through the partially ajar door, careful not to move anything around them.

The police had been inside earlier, but left the residence temporarily to set up the barriers to prevent nosy neighbors from peering in. The sight they were met with elicited a gasp from Tonks and a sharp exhale from Harry. She grasped his hand tightly as he surveyed the room; debris was everywhere. The once pristine household looked like a small riot had taken place within its walls, leaving upturned furniture and broken shards of glass in its wake. Flecks of a dark red substance were all over the walls and on some parts of the ceiling. Within the living room, a message that was displayed along the far wall, left out of Auror Williamson's report, read, in large rusty red block letters, _'The Dark Lord fears none.'_

While the others were simply taking in the ruins, Dumbledore was running diagnostic tests with his wand, murmuring to himself every now and again. Harry finally willed his legs to walk around the home, Tonks following close behind, neither saying a word. The absence of bodies was strange to Harry, but he quickly realized that the muggle police must have already taken them away. Seemingly to validate his point, he stumbled upon the white chalk outline of a human body on the ground of the small kitchen. Making his way up the stairs, he noted that the pictures that were once lining the stairwell were haphazardly strewn, at best, but mostly blasted off the wall and lying in charred pieces on the ground.

If the rest of the house looked like the venue of a riot, then his old bedroom seemed to have been caught in a tornado, left virtually unrecognizable. Seeing nothing salvageable, and no signs of anything that was left by the death eaters, Harry slowly made his way back down the stairs.

From the living room, he heard parts of Dumbledore's conversation. "Quite right, Elphias, it seems that this was not the work of the killing curse. The magical residue left seems to be more in line with cutting and slashing curses. I am afraid that Voldemort had his followers make this as drawn out as possible." Harry had seen enough; he needed to get out of there. His skittishness was not lost upon Tonks who followed him as he all but bolted out of the front door.

Harry walked out past the policemen, weaved through the crowd, and didn't stop walking until he had reached the end of the street where they first appeared. Sighing heavily, he sat himself down on the curb of the sidewalk, staring at his one-time place of residence. Residence. He didn't want to call it his home; it was never quite that.

"Harry?" a voice called out from some unknown spot up the street.

"I'm here." A moment later he heard someone take a seat next to him, assuming the somewhat translucent outline of a figure was Tonks. When the individual in question simply sighed and leaned their head against his shoulder, he knew his initial identification was correct. "How're you feeling?"

"Head doesn't hurt anymore. Throat's still kinda dry though," Tonks said. "But shouldn't _I_ be asking _you_ that question?"

"Yea, I s'pose. But I don't rightly know how to answer," he replied. "Last few hours have been rather eventful, wouldn't you say?"

Tonks snorted. "Understatement if I've ever heard one."

Both were quiet for some time, still waiting on the Headmaster and Doge to finish searching for whatever it was the two seemed to want to find. The disillusionment charms began to wear off slowly, and each could faintly see the other now. Finally, the silence was broken, "Is it wrong of me to not feel sad that they're gone?"

She craned her neck over from its position, still resting on his shoulder, to look at his face. Even with the remnants of the charm, Tonks could still make out a preoccupied expression. "I mean, I thought I'd be at least a little sad that they're dead, but I can't bring myself to feel it. I'm just sorry that they had to be casualties of a war that wasn't even theirs to fight. And guilty… for making them targets; but I'm just not _sad_."

"It takes more than blood to make someone your family, Harry," she stated, deliberately slowing the enunciation of the statement. "They were practically strangers to you. It doesn't make you any less of a person to not feel mournful of all this," she pointed at the house.

The faint sounds of footsteps headed towards their direction interrupted the conversation. "Ah, here they are Albus, just as you said. Probably waiting for us, we've no doubt, slowed in our old age."

"Yes, I trust we didn't keep you waiting too long, did we, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "No, we've not been waiting long."

"Excellent. Elphias, Nymphadora, I thank you both for accompanying me on this mission, but I believe we are finished here. You are free to leave if you wish. May I recommend going home and getting a little shut-eye?"

"Splendid suggestion, Albus. I think I'll go do just that," Doge said, disappearing immediately thereafter.

Tonks stood up from the curb, "See you soon, Harry?" He nodded as she disapparated also.

"Am I apparating alongside you, professor?"

"Yes, Harry, but before we do that, I was wondering if you would like to walk with me," Dumbledore replied calmly.

"Sure." Now that the adrenaline that came with the situation had worn off, his contempt for the older man due to their last meeting came back in full force, and Harry had a feeling that this was more than just a leisurely stroll around Little Whinging. However, as with all things that involved Dumbledore, the activity was as confusing as it was infuriating. Since the Headmaster had yet to say anything, Harry's patience had finally worn thin, so he asked, "why weren't the muggles able to see the Dark Mark just now?" It was a red herring. He would have much rather questioned why the bloody hell they were ambling around his former neighborhood, but he wasn't going to give the old man the satisfaction in knowing he'd piqued his interest.

If it weren't such a serious matter, Dumbledore's eyeballs would have twinkled out of their sockets, but as it was, he refrained. However, the mirth in his voice remained. "Ah, yes, well, muggles are such strange folk, don't you agree, Harry? They seem to have the propensity to see only what they want to, and try to explain away anything they cannot immediately understand." Stupid Dumbledore and his ruddy half-useless answers.

However, there were plenty of other thoughts that were troubling him. "Why didn't I see this coming through the scar? Why'd He pick now to attack us… why not when the articles were printed?"

Dumbledore grew serious. "I think, Harry, that Voldemort may be trying to control the connection between the two of you as much as he can; I doubt he finds the idea of you being able to see into his mind as a desirable occurrence. Perhaps his timing, however, has more to do with me than you, as I believe he was seeking vengeance due to the papers' troublesome offhanded comment about his fear of my existence; can you think of a more apt day for retribution than on the morning of your enemy's one hundred and fifteenth birthday?" Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Such troubling matters aside, Harry, I invited you along in hopes that you would accept an apology from me." Flabbergasted didn't even begin to describe how Harry felt; whatever he thought Dumbledore wanted to do, apologize was most certainly not one of the notions he'd entertained.

"I fear that I am but an old man who has, very much so, grown used to having others accept my word as it is; thus, perhaps I no longer react in the way that is most suitable when my actions and choices are questioned."

There was a brief pause, but eventually, he finally found his words. "You're referring to our argument at Slughorn's, then?"

"The very same. Unless you know of another occasion during which you berated me? It is possible that such an event may have slipped my mind; I confess, I am becoming quite forgetful in my old age," Dumbledore said congenially, sucking on a piece of hard candy.

"No, I'd say that was a one time thing," he held back a blush; even though he was embarrassed he'd mouthed off to the Headmaster, he still felt as though he was right in the end.

_August 13, 1996_

_Per their discussion the previous week, Dumbledore came to collect Harry from Grimmauld Place to accompany him on a mission, which, as Harry found out, was simply to find a professor for the approaching school term. After successfully persuading Horace Slughorn to take the job at Hogwarts for the upcoming year, Harry and Dumbledore left, making idle conversation. An off-handed comment on Harry's part, concerning his skepticism of the rather rotund man's ability to teach a course on Defence Against the Dark Arts, caused Dumbledore to reply that it wouldn't be an issue, as Slughorn was actually being hired as the new Potions professor, and Professor Snape would finally be appointed to his long coveted position._

"_You're joking," Harry said, deadpanned. He had the distinct feeling that he had just been used, and if there was one thing Harry was sick and tired of, it was being manipulated for the sole benefit of others._

"_No, I assure you, Harry, I am quite serious. I think that you will find Horace to be an exceptionally gifted potions master, who, I daresay, would take offense to you not being enrolled in his NEWT level class. Your OWL score will be more than adequate for him. Yes, rest assured, it is for the best," came Dumbledore's reply, the old man seemingly oblivious to the eruption of anger he was about to experience._

"_For the best?!? You cannot be serious. I'm not talking about Slughorn, I'm talking about Snape! Snape is a bloody _awful_ professor, you KNOW that! How could you let him take on something so important, now of all times!?"_

"_Harry," Dumbledore wearily stated, "I understand your resistance to the idea of Professor Snape teaching your favorite course, but you should not let your personal views sway your opinion on the matter. This is in the best interest of us all."_

_The two stopped walking at this point, Harry positively glowering at the man beside him. He scoffed at the professor's words. "As if you give a damn about anyone's best interest other than your own! All of this, everything, is so you can get what _you_ want. Slughorn would have never agreed to help you without me there – you used me, once again, to do your bidding. And where does it leave me? Our agreement was no more secrets, Dumbledore, and this little endeavor has done nothing to answer my question about the state of your hand. One simple little question, and you can't even give me a straight answer," he seethed, but his tirade wasn't over just yet._

"_And for the record, my opposition to Snape teaching Defence has nothing to do my with my dislike for him, and everything to do with the fact that, in case you've forgotten, we're in a bloody war! Students are going to need all the help they can get in learning how to defend against attacks – you think Snape is the best man for that job? Do you think Snape, who can't even teach children the proper order in which they should throw ingredients into a fucking cauldron, is going to be able to tell us how to save our own lives?! This decision isn't in the best interest of anybody, least of all your students, _Headmaster_."_

"_You are out of line, young man," Dumbledore said sharply, using a severe tone that Harry had never heard from him before. "I do not need your approval in the appointments I make at my school, and you would do well to remember that. I thought you would have appreciated being involved in this venture, but, unfortunately, I see now that I was mistaken. My decision stands as it is, Mr. Potter."_

_Harry knew he was being a tad bit insolent, taking up such a sarcastic attitude with the Headmaster, but he also knew that he was making a valid point, and if Dumbledore couldn't see it, then it was simply because the man was turning a blind eye to the truth. Seeing the look of finality on the man's face, and hearing the unwavering tone in his voice, Harry chose not to reply, knowing that it would be fruitless to pursue the topic further. "If that's how you feel professor, then that's how you feel. Just remember this conversation when the battles start and our side is stuck, woefully unprepared; or worse." The conversation ended with Dumbledore stiffly offering his arm for Harry to take. For his part, the teenager begrudgingly grasped the outstretched arm, though looking as if he'd rather do anything else in the world at the moment. With a pop, the two disappeared back to Grimmauld Place, immediately diverging paths._

August 17, 1996

"After taking an adequate amount of time out to think through our discussion, Harry, I find that you make a legitimate protest; talented as he is, Professor Snape _does_ seem to, at times, have trouble imparting his vast amount of knowledge unto others. However, I remain steadfast in my decision to grant him the post as Defence professor," upon seeing the expression on Harry's face, Dumbledore wisely added, "with an addendum, of course."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked skeptically.

"As the situation has placed us in a quandary, I pondered through all the possible solutions I could think of to alleviate the predicament. Ultimately, keeping Horace on staff as our Potions Master is nonnegotiable. And so, as I chewed on a particularly sour lemon drop, the idea suddenly came to me. Tell me, Harry, have you, by chance, chosen your elective courses for next term yet?"

"Can't say I've given it too much thought," Harry said sheepishly.

Dumbledore's smile widened. "I thought as much. I have a proposal for you, Harry, if you are interested to hear it," he paused, continuing after Harry nodded. "The members of your D.A. all conspicuously received higher than average marks on their OWLs this year. I must commend you for that accomplishment, by the way. You seem to have a knack for teaching. You are right to say that the students of Hogwarts will need, now more than ever, an adequate education in defending themselves against the dark arts. My proposition for you is a simple one: if you would be so inclined to continue the association, I am willing to make it a fully sanctioned club at Hogwarts for students to voluntarily attend," Dumbledore paused, gauging Harry's reaction. When Harry said nothing, the Headmaster continued. "Now, I understand that leading such a group can be time consuming. Thus, in exchange for your added efforts, the leadership role can be made to take the place of one of your elective courses; call it a work study program, if you will."

Harry considered the idea, and conceded that it had merit. The issue wasn't his courses; he was ready to drop Care of Magical Creatures years ago, after nearly losing a limb dealing with blast-ended skrewts. The real question was, did he really want to make the D.A. an officially sanctioned club, thereby exponentially increasing its membership and his workload? More importantly, did he have any desire to continue the group at all? It was started, after all, only because of Umbridge's refusal to teach useful information. Would Snape be any different? When it came down to it, however, the decision was never really even a decision at all. Harry came to the rather noble, if not irksome, foregone conclusion that given the chance to help is fellow students, he would. He sighed. "I'll do it,'" Harry said exhaustedly, adding, "but Snape isn't to be involved." He was unsure of whether or not this was merely just another one of the old man's manipulations, but quite honestly, Harry was too drained to make further interpretations. Dumbledore, unsurprisingly, was more than receptive to his reply, damnable eyes twinkling like mad. As they readied themselves to depart from Little Whinging, Harry had one more subject to broach.

"Headmaster?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"You still owe me an explanation regarding the visit to Slughorn's, and what it had to do with your hand."

"Ah, it is not so much the visit, Harry, but rather, the man himself, that possesses the answer to that question." Harry was too tired to do much else other than roll his eyes, exasperated. This was an argument for another day.

Upon his return to Grimmauld Place, Harry only had one thought running through his mind: sleep. He entered his bedroom, mentally exhausted, and physically haggard from the events of the day – and it wasn't even past five in the morning. Unfortunately for his REM cycle, fate decided that Harry needed to stave off sleep for a little while longer.

"Wotcher, Har," Tonks said tiredly from his bed. "What took you so long? Feel like I've been back for ages waitin' for ya."

Harry made his way over to the other side of the mattress and flopped onto the bed, facedown into the pillow. "Dumbledore wanted to chit-chat."

"Hm. He has rather poor timing, don't 'cha think?" she asked dryly.

"Agreed," answered his muffled voice.

Tonks shifted onto her side, facing Harry's prone form. "Can I ask you something?"

Harry turned his head, registering that her voice had come from right next to his ear. "Hm?"

She looked on, nervous for a second. "I didn't, uh, I didn't come on to you or anything last night… did I?"

"Define 'come onto,' Nymphadora," he said teasingly. The lack of sleep was making him rather punchy. She reddened.

"Well, I mean, I, I sorta remember kissing you last night," she said hurriedly. "I just wanted to make sure I didn't do anything else… inappropriate."

He let out a chuckle. The problems in his love life suddenly seemed rather trivial in light of the recent attacks and deaths. "Yea, you kissed me. But in retrospect, I think the amount of alcohol you had by then would've knocked Hagrid out, so it's no worries; liquor does funny things to inhibitions, right?" An exaggerated look of relief radiated off Tonks' face. Harry couldn't help himself from adding, "next time you want to be a little 'inappropriate' though, just ask, I'd be more than happy to oblige." The comment earned him a slap on the arm.

"Prat," she laughed.

"Maybe. But you love me anyway," he smiled. "Now, not to be rude, but I'm about two seconds away from passing out the hell out, so I'm calling it a night." Tonks just closed her eyes in response, at ease with herself, knowing she hadn't made any further sexual advances towards the young man. "You can stay here if you want, I don't mind. Hell, there's enough room on this thing to fit three or four more people if you wanted."

"Probably, but that would make for a rather awkward morning after, I think."

Harry grinned, but simply responded with a "g'night." Neither pointed out the fact that Tonks was, by now, sober enough to apparate back to her own flat and bed to sleep in.

August 18, 1996

It was one in the afternoon before Harry awoke again, still tired, half starved, and with no Tonks in sight. Instead, he found a note scribbled on a scrap piece of paper laying on the bedside table, simply stating that the ministry called all auror corps personnel in to report for duty and that she would see him later.

Bumbling out of bed, he realized that lunch could probably still be had if he hurried a little, so after washing up and changing shirts, he quickly exited the room, making a beeline for the first floor. The only others that were still in the kitchen by this time were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Lupin. All three looked paler and more preoccupied than ever before.

Mrs. Weasley, of course, was the first to spot him, and immediately rushed to Harry's side. "Harry, you're up! Oh, I told Ronald to leave you be for a little while longer. No matter, are you hungry, dear?" Without waiting for an answer, she seized a plate and began loading it with helpings of food. It would seem as though the Weasley matron's coping mechanism was simply to fuss more.

He merely greeted the two other men in the room and sat down, not about to argue with being fed, even if it was in such a coddling manner. He devoured the meal in record time, due in part to his hunger, but also in part to simply having no other distractions at the table. As he ate, Harry idly picked up on snippets of the conversation being had. "Poor Xenophilius… such a hard life already… we can only hope…" He couldn't quite place where he'd heard that name before, but the piteous look on Remus' face told him that, whoever the man was, Harry did not envy him in the least.

Hunger sated, Harry exited the kitchen as quickly as his legs would carry him, desperately trying to avoid the barrage of questions that would come his way if he gave Mrs. Weasley the chance. Lying on the couch in the drawing room, Harry allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts; the events of the last twenty-four hours of his life left him rather listless for the time being as tried to sort it all out in his mind.

His animagus form was somewhat of a mystery, though, dark or not, admittedly potentially useful. His relationship with Tonks was odd, but he couldn't be sure if this was a good or bad development. However, neither of those things were really all that important, given that the Dursleys were dead, along with _so_ many others, and it was undeniable now that the war had begun. Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair in mild frustration. Now more than ever, he felt trapped in Grimmauld Place, made to sit idly by, while people on the outside were being attacked, forced to watch their loved ones slain. But what could he do? What was the best course of action to take? Thanks to a godforsaken prophecy, he was the _only_ one who could end it, but surely it didn't mean in his current state, right? He barely had five years of magical training; _surely_ he wasn't foolhardy enough to think that was enough to defeat Voldemort… why hadn't Dumbledore simply pushed him from the beginning if the man knew that this was what it would ultimately all come down to? Harry had so _many_ questions, and, yet, so few answers for himself.

At some point during his introspection, Harry must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was awakened by the sound of familiar voices.

"…found him! He's in here, Hermione." Harry rubbed his eyes and sat up from his reclined position as his two best friends entered the drawing room.

A look of relief washed over Hermione as she sat down next to him. "Harry! We went all over the house looking for you!"

He stretched his arms while blinking the sleep from his eyes. "I came in here after lunch – guess I fell asleep for a bit," he shrugged.

"No worries, mate," Ron replied before hesitantly adding, "how're you holding up?"

Harry merely shrugged again. "Fine, I s'pose. My night kinda went to shit after I left you guys, though, huh?" His joke fell flat. Ron fidgeted in his seat while Hermione looked on, biting her lip, a distressed look in her eyes.

"Er, yea, about that, Harry… I might've, uh, put my foot in my mouth with that reaction last night," Ron began, but Harry waved his hand in dismissal.

"S'alright. I didn't exactly respond too well myself – it kind of shocked us all, didn't it? Are we any closer to figuring out what I am, by the way? And by 'we', I mean 'Hermione'," Harry smiled crookedly, deciding that he'd much rather discuss animagi-related problems with his two friends than his emotional state for the moment. It did the trick; the worried look left Hermione's face, and was immediately replaced by an expression the two boys had grown quite used to, one that formed whenever she was pondering over a good mystery.

"Well, after you left, I stayed in the library for a while longer, looking for texts written about magical creatures, but since Mrs. Weasley threw out a lot of the books," Hermione looked sour at the thought, "I could only find two that gave any sort of description about hellhounds, and just one referencing barghests. But if we want to figure it out for sure, Harry… the only way is to change you back."

Harry nodded, having come to terms with the notion. "Maybe in a few days. I want to read over my dad's notes again to see if he has any tips about how to reign in the animal instincts. We all seemed to have a bit of a problem with that, right?"

Ron agreed. "It'd be nice to figure out how to think about something other than goring anything that moves near me. My form's a twitchy little bugger."

"So, you're…ok with it then?" Hermione said, glancing at Harry. She seemed a bit timid, but no one could really blame her; in years past, it took far less to make Harry lose his temper, so she was used to having to tread lightly.

But not for the first time, Harry became conscious of her apprehension. In fact, ever since he started making the effort to cease lashing out at those who didn't necessarily deserve it, he became increasingly aware of certain individual's strange behavior towards him in sticky situations. He mentally sighed, knowing this conversation was a prime example of how much damage was already done. Even his best friends were guilty of treating him like he was a volatile time bomb every now and again. He would have to remedy this.

"I've come to terms with the possibilities of what my form could be, Hermione, if that's what you mean," Harry replied, voice devoid of harshness. "It is what it is, and if I can't change it, I might as well get used to having it around. Who knows? Maybe a huge hulking beast as an animagus will come in handy, right?" He offered a small smile, one in which she returned, assuaged.

"Good on ya, mate," Ron said. "I mean, you were pretty fierce looking; it _could _come in handy. Can you imagine the look on Malfoy's face if he went toe-to-toe with you and then suddenly he was staring into the eyes of a hellhound? He'd wet himself!" Ron grinned happily at the thought.

"Maybe it'd be useful against Malfoy, but I've got bigger things in mind."

Ron seemed confused for a second, and then asked, "who, then? Snape?" Harry's smile grew larger, unexpectedly happy that Ron was still himself – brash, innocent, and hopelessly oblivious – regardless of all the happenings of the world around him.

"Yea, Snape." He didn't see the need to burst his bubble. If Ron's biggest concerns in life were school related, Harry wasn't going to jade him by bringing up wars and dark lords, it just wasn't worth it. The three spent a little more time discussing future plans regarding animagus training, coming up with a tentative schedule for the activity.

"Brilliant!" Ron seemed pleased by the direction the conversation had gone. "Enough business talk, anyone fancy a game of exploding snap?" Harry shrugged and Hermione, though with an exasperated look, nodded. "Excellent – I'll go get the deck." Neither of the two remaining said anything until he was out of the room.

"Do I even know you anymore?" The abrupt question caught Harry off guard.

"Excuse me?"

Hermione sighed, faraway look in her eyes. "It's like I don't even know who you are anymore, Harry." He looked taken aback as she continued, "you're so different now. You seemed so mature the first day you got here, and I just thought maybe it was just because you'd grown up. But then I started picking up on the other things… you drink… smoke… goodness, Harry, and, and Skeeter's article with the pictures? And now, Tonks?? Harry, I never thought I would have to say this to you, but… please, tell me you're not using her!" She turned back to face him towards the end of her statement, which had taken on a slight tone of hysteria.

Harry looked at her, speechless. He probably should have expected this conversation to happen, sooner rather than later, but he'd momentarily forgot that Hermione had stumbled into his bedroom, and proceeded to completely misconstrue what she had seen. "I'm still me, Hermione," he assured her. She scoffed. "Really, I am. I might've picked up a bad habit or two along the way… and maybe I've done a little growing up, but I'm the same Harry you know."

She faced him, skepticism marring her features. "The Harry _I_ know stuttered at the thought of talking to Cho Chang. _This _Harry snogs girls he doesn't know and jumps into bed with older women! How can you say you haven't changed?!"

"I didn't say I haven't changed, Hermione," he answered softly, "I'm just saying, even with the changes, you still know me. I'm still your best friend. And as your best friend, you should trust me when I tell you that Tonks and I are not sleeping together." Hermione made a noise, but Harry cut her off, "I mean, we were sleeping, and in the same bed, but honestly, how many times have you and I fallen asleep on the same couch?"

"That's a little different, Harry."

"It's the same," he stated firmly. "She came back from her date and she had a little too much to drink, so I offered to let her sleep it off here. That's all." He left out mentioning drunken kisses; it wouldn't exactly help his cause.

Hermione exhaled and, without warning, latched onto him in the fiercest hug she could muster. "Oh, I hope you don't think I'm scolding; I'm just so worried about you, Harry. First, with Sirius, and the issues with Snape, and then the prophecy," she was babbling at this point, but neither seemed to notice, "and now with the Dursleys…" if possible, her grip tightened. "You just don't deserve all that's happened to you, is all," she ended, sniffling.

Harry patted her back gently, attempting to console her. "S'alright, 'mione. Better me than anyone else, I think," he murmured. They sat there in silence for a moment, before Hermione extricated herself from the embrace to wipe her eye.

"Ugh. One of these days, we're going to actually have a conversation where I don't turn into a blubbering mess," she said disparagingly at herself. Harry chuckled.

"If it helps, the last time, you were already a mess before we even began talking."

She laughed, swatting him on the arm, "oh, hush." He was about to say something on a more serious note to reassure his friend, but at that moment, Ron reentered the room, cards in hand, so Harry simply filed the thought away. The rest of the afternoon consisted of the three engaging in lighthearted conversation and games of exploding snap. Harry was unexpectedly grateful for an afternoon of normalcy, especially after his night. Though he wanted to feel more useful, realistically speaking, he wasn't going to be of much help dealing with the aftermath of the night's calamities; he was much more beneficial, much more at home, in the field. As such, Harry had the suspicion that he wouldn't get the opportunity to simply be a regular teenager, spending time with his friends, for too much longer, so he allowed himself to savor the feeling, however transitory it may have been.

By evening time, most ministry workers were called in, leaving Mr. Weasley, Tonks, Moody, and Kingsley conspicuously absent from the Sunday night dinner table. Harry spent his meal talking to Fleur, who agreed to practice dueling with him later that night.

"C'est magnifique!" Fleur said happily upon being revived. "'Arry, zat was wonderful, you are learning so quickly!" Harry looked pleasantly surprised at what had just occurred. The blond witch, keeping her word, had been helping Harry sharpen his dueling skills, as well as develop his elemental magic.

He was immeasurably grateful that nothing was awkward between the two of them; far from it in fact, from a third party perspective, the two were closer than ever, exchanging light touches and flirtatious looks that were escalating to anything but platonic. However, nothing further had been done since that first night, save a friendly peck or two, a fact that mystified Harry greatly. It would have even made more sense to him if she'd simply come to him the next day, in light of the unsavory periodical printed about him, and chided him for his actions. Instead, she merely laughed it off. "Everyone 'as a dirty leetle secret or two, 'Arry. Yours just 'appens to be not so secret any more, non? I 'ope, for my sake, though, zat my photo does not appear too often next to yours, now zat we are friends. I 'ave had more zan my fill of jealous schoolgirls, I zink," and she just laughed some more. The reaction baffled Harry; he wasn't used to girls being so _rational_, around him.

Regardless, Harry found himself once again mentally thanking whatever higher powers there were for making his relationship with Fleur, as precarious and indefinable as it was, for existing in the way that it currently did. Barring Tonks, Harry was hard-pressed to be able to think of another person who could put him at ease and feel as light-hearted as Fleur. Her company was a nice change of pace from everyone else who were all subdued and in poor spirits (though he didn't blame them in the least). Currently, Harry had just defeated Fleur in a mock duel for the first time since their sessions had begun, using a broad mixture of all of the techniques she had been teaching him to finally end the lengthy battle by calling forth the tiniest puffs of flames to fling in her direction; she was forced to dodge the high speed fireball, leaping to the right, as Harry had predicted, into a well-placed stunner, chain linked to an incarcerating charm.

Fleur was practically glowing at her trainee's improvements in such a short amount of time. "And ze stunner, you cast it silently, non?" Harry nodded in affirmation as he banished the conjured ropes and helped her to her feet. She enveloped him in a hug, all the while chattering excitedly, praising his progress, though playfully pointing out that since she had nothing left to teach him, there was no longer a use for their dueling sessions.

"Well thank god I'm still awful at controlling fire, huh?" he joked, "I mean, at this rate, we'll need to continue those lessons _at least_ until September, right?"

Fleur laughed, "Oui," she agreed, "September, at ze very least."

August 22, 1996

Harry gave one last glance at the mirror, smoothed his shirt, straightened his black tie, and headed downstairs to meet the rest of the entourage. Today, he had two funerals to attend, and as he descended the stairs, he shook his head, finding it excessive for any person to have to go to more than one in the same month, much less two in the same day. A great majority of the Order would be accompanying him to the first service, as it was an open viewing for the new Minister's family, and many wanted to pay their respects. At first, Harry was uneasy with the idea of so many of them being in one area; indubitably, this venue would be an easy target for Voldemort. Tonks, however, tried to quell his wariness, stating, "Scrimgeour's got the place on lockdown. There'll be personnel swarming, armed to the teeth; He'd have to be daft to try and attack today." Still, Harry couldn't shake his apprehension, even after he arrived and saw for himself that officials were indeed _everywhere_.

It was an overcast day, a fact that most were grateful for, as they appeared on the grassy hill; anything that detracted from the heat of the summer was a welcomed feature. The sheer amount of people in attendance was astounding, but that didn't stop the reporters from mobbing their group almost immediately upon arrival, an occurrence that could have been easily predicted, considering both Dumbledore and Harry Potter were among those in the crowd.

Hearing a hiss emanating from Hermione, Harry looked her way and then followed her line of vision, where it settled on none other than their favorite 'journalist', Rita Skeeter. The predatory glint in her eye told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was up to her old tricks once again, Hermione's warning unheeded. Luckily for them, Kingsley and Tonks were dressed in official ministry robes, and, thus, parted the way easily.

"Later, Hermione," he whispered, "we'll deal with her later. Right now let's focus on why we're here," and he gently nudged his friend in the direction towards the caskets. She sent one last withering glare at the woman, but acquiesced to the motion.

It was an open casket affair, both coffins next to one another, piles of flowers scattered all around. Harry stared at the stony, unmoving faces of the minister's wife and daughter with morbid fascination; their expressions looked serene, as if they were simply asleep. The lack of color on their skin, however, spoke to a more macabre end.

A voice from behind shook him out of his reverie. "They look at peace, don't they?" He turned to see Rufus Scrimgeour staring wistfully at the caskets.

"They do, sir," was all he could reply. "I'm sorry for your loss," he eventually added, not sure what else he could say.

Both men stood still for a moment, Scrimgeour seemingly sizing Harry up. "I was told that you lost your family that night as well, Mr. Potter," he said finally.

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated, "their wake is later this afternoon."

The Minister looked on and gave a mirthless chuckle, "we're not so different, then, you and I. Not anymore." Harry turned towards the man, eyebrow raised. "I can't think of two people in the world who want Voldemort dead, more than you and I; can you?" Again, true as the statement was, Harry said nothing, though he was vaguely appreciative of the fact that Scrimgeour could say the dark lord's name without a hint of fear in his tone. "I understand that you had agreed to meet with me, before all of this happened."

"I did. I sort of felt that our cooperation was necessary… even if it is just for show."

At that, Rufus let out a true ring of laughter, catching the attention of those surrounding them. Seemingly aware of their new eavesdroppers, he retrieved his wand from its holster, and with a wave, erected a temporary privacy ward. They could still be seen, but no one could make out what was being said.

From within the barrier, Scrimgeour studied Harry before he spoke candidly, "Then I'm sure you know, or at least I'm sure Dumbledore had told you, that I had every intention of simply using your name to help the cause." Harry, of course, had come to that realization quite easily on his own, but was rather taken aback that the man would so freely admit to it.

"I had the suspicion… but I knew what I was getting myself into, all the same."

Scrimgeour gave a sharp nod. "Indeed. However, Harry – may I call you Harry?" The young man in question nodded before the Minister continued, "however, Harry, given recent developments, I no longer wish to, unnecessarily, fight a two front war, so to speak. We have a common enemy, and I _will_ have my vengeance on the bastard that took them from me," he jerked his head towards the bodies of his former family, ending the statement with something akin to a harsh growl, a manic gleam in his eyes. As quickly as it came, however, the look disappeared as he composed himself once more. He cleared his throat, "now, I'll not pretend as though I know the true extent to which you are to be involved with His defeat, but everyone seems to think you play a large role, and, as I've learned, perception is just as important as reality."

Harry sardonically thought that perception was much closer to reality than Scrimgeour realized, but wisely kept quiet. "I think you will find that I make a great ally, Harry. With your favor in the populace, and my sway in the ministry, we would be a force to be reckoned with."

"Am I supposed to take this to mean, Minister, that you no longer plan on merely using me for my fame?" Harry didn't bother hiding his skepticism; if the Minister could be candid, so could he. However, Rufus was quite aware of his companion's tone.

"Oh, have no doubt Harry, your fame will still be utilized, but I am offering you something in return for your troubles. Think of it more as a tit-for-tat agreement: my support for yours."

Harry, though still hanging onto a few misgivings, nonetheless, took the plunge; it was time to see if Sirius' books were of any use. "Ok, Minister Scrimgeour, I'll bite. Let's see if we can be of any use to each other."

The man gave a tight-lipped smile. "Good man. If that's the case, you can call me Rufus…You know, I was warned that your support was going to be much more difficult than this to engender."

Harry scoffed. "You'll learn soon that the people who are most willing to offer an opinion about me are the ones that have the least amount of business doing so."

"So it would seem. It comes with the territory, I suppose, but I'll keep that in mind for the future. Now, are you ready for your picture to grace the front pages of the Prophet, once again?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess," Harry responded derisively. With that, Rufus Scrimgeour deactivated the privacy ward, the buzz of conversation engulfing them once more. In the crowd, Harry caught the distinct glare of disapproval coming from Dumbledore. As the bulbs flashed from the press' cameras, he pulled his gaze away from the Headmaster and back to Scrimgeour. The man extended a hand in his direction; Harry lifted his gaze from the outstretched arm to look Scrimgeour dead in the eye before taking a deep breathe and extending a right hand of his own. As the two men shook on their agreement, another camera's bulb flashed; Harry was caught wondering whether or not he had just made a deal with the devil.

The rest of his time at the funeral was much less eventful, as he rejoined the group he arrived with, carefully avoiding Dumbledore, and sticking close to Tonks, who was doing a splendid job exuding an air of authority and keeping the reporters at bay.

"What was that all about?"

"I think your old boss Rufus just wrangled an agreement out of me."

Tonks looked at Harry, mildly alarmed. "You're gonna want to be careful with that one, Harry. He's competent, for sure, but ruthless as all get out."

"I kind of got that feeling just talking to him. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think that he used this funeral as an excuse to corner me, or something. But no one's that callous," Harry said looking at Tonks with uncertainty, "right?"

"Who knows, Harry… I doubt any move he makes is uncalculated, but I'm with you; no one's _that_ heartless."

Harry nodded, changing the subject, "so, you coming with me to the Dursleys' wake?"

She offered a sympathetic look, but said, "I wish I could, but they're making us stick around; me and Shack will probably be here 'til at least Scrimgeour leaves."

He frowned, but understood. "Do'ya know who's coming, then? I doubt Dumbledore would let me go it alone, even if I wanted to."

"Remus volunteered; so did Fleur. Not really too sure who else beyond that. You decided whether or not you're going to say anything yet?"

He flinched. Because, ironically, Harry was suddenly the last living relative of the Dursleys, especially with Marge gone, he was in charge of the funeral arrangements and the eulogy. Though the idea of him offering the final remarks for his relatives was almost laughable, Harry conceded that it was probably appropriate for him to do so anyway, regardless of any preexisting ill will. "Yea, I dunno what I'm going to say yet, but I figured it was only right… I _did_ live with them for ten years."

"You'll think of something," she reassured.

"Maybe. Anyway, I better go. It's almost three-thirty, and the viewing's at four." Harry happily accepted her hug and then went off to find Remus.

As it turned out, along with Lupin and Fleur, Professor McGonagall, Mr. Weasley, and Hermione also wished to accompany him. Mr. Weasley, the whole way, was strangely inquisitive about muggle funerary arrangements, intrigued by how they differed from the wizarding method; Hermione was all too content in explaining.

The service was a simple one, almost the antithesis of the one they'd just come from. It was a closed casket ceremony, with large, ornate flower arrangements decorating the tops, and while a sizeable amount of people came, it was mere child's play compared to those who'd come to the earlier one. Harry sat in the second row with Fleur seated to his right and Hermione on his left, turning around briefly to watch as people filed in. A few of Vernon's coworkers were there, but for the most part, those in attendance were from the neighborhood; news had spread throughout Little Whinging that the Dursleys were made victims of a senseless bout of gang violence, the cover story that the Obliviators came up with for the muggles. Harry recognized many of Petunia's gossip circle as well as her bridge group – they brought their sons along, mainly for Dudley's benefit, no doubt. His eyes lingered on the Polkiss family, Piers looking more downtrodden than ever, before roaming through the crowd once more. He saw Megan and her mother, though neither had seen him yet, before he decided to turn back around and simply wait for the process to commence. Though the Dursleys weren't too terribly religious, they were members of the local church, and, as such, the pastor offered the church as a venue as well as his services in saying a few words. His speech was followed by some of the neighbors who were particularly close to Petunia.

Finally, it was Harry's turn to provide some closing remarks, and, all at once, it seemed, people realized his presence. The whispers began as he stood, Fleur giving his hand an encouraging squeeze before he made his way to the center of the apse. He doubted any of them had ever seen him dressed in normal clothes before, much less a tailored suit and tie. To them, his immaculate, presentable look was much more bizarre than him usual rags. Megan finally made eye contact, a look of shock and bewilderment clearly present.

"…the delinquent nephew…"

"…I bet this had something to do with him…"

"…bit of a dodgy fellow…"

Harry cleared his throat, shifting his weight from side to side as he stood in front of the gathering. "The Dursleys were the type of people who," he began, but paused, not knowing how to finish the sentence. But whatever type of folks they might be, the congregation would never know, because at that moment, the sound of an almighty explosion followed by a _CRACK_ in the church's foundation forced everyone to turn towards the back of the church, where the ceiling began to crumble.

At once, Harry was moving, unaware of the screams surrounding him. He made five quick strides towards Fleur and Hermione, jumping over the pew and yanking them down into crouching positions, the others following suit, just as the pops of apparition began to sound. Three figures dressed in black cloaks appeared in the ambulatory directly behind the coffins and began shooting off fatal spells indiscriminately in every direction, shattering the narrow panes of stained-glass windows and blowing chunks of mortar off the walls. Simultaneously, the large wooden doors at the other end of the nave were blown in, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions. In seconds, the church had become a scene of mass chaos. Some smartly chose to duck and cover, but most weren't so lucky, and, for the most part, the injured began to fall at a rapid rate, taken victim by collapsing debris and rubble.

"POTTER!" One of the four masked men, who had blasted the door in, spat his name maliciously.

Remus, from his left side, grabbed his arm and whispered urgently, "Harry, we need to get out of here. NOW."

He wrenched his arm out of the older mans grasp, replying in the same tone, "And let the muggles try to fend for themselves? We can't just leave them here to die, Remus!"

Mr. Weasley cut in, "Harry, he's right, there's too many – "

"The hell there is!" Meanwhile, the death eaters quickly changed tactics, seemingly pleased with the current amount of panic, the three in the front scanned the room from their positions while the ones that entered in from the door slowly made their way from the back, searching row by row for their target. "If you guys want to leave, then go! But I'm _not_ leaving them here to get slaughtered – and if you try to side-apparate me out, I swear to god, _I will end you_."

"Mr. Potter, now is not that time to be brazen; you don't even have a plan," McGonagall hissed, Scottish brogue in full force. In all fairness, he indeed, did _not_ have a plan, but he wasn't about to let them know that. Instead, he went with his gut instincts as the death eaters continued to make their way through the pews.

Another taunt rang through the church, "Potter, I know you're here; come on out – we only want to play a little," the voice cackled, sending a curse flying, destroying a pillar on impact. More screams.

He asked hurriedly, "Who knows how to bring up an anti-disapparition ward?"

"I can," Fleur offered hesitantly.

"How long does it take?"

"A room zis size? A few minutes, maybe a leetle more."

"Ok, do it. Anyone who still wants to leave, I suggest you do so before she's finished," he paused, and when no one made a move, except Fleur who was discreetly beginning the process, he spoke again, rapidly, racing against the clock, aware of the necessity of decisiveness in the moment.

Another explosion rang out, this time the sound of crying could be heard. He looked at Remus and said, "In a second, I need you to send a message out to the Order requesting backup," without waiting for a reply, he turned to Hermione, trying to ignore her frightened look, "do you have your wand?" She nodded. "Good. When Remus casts his patronus, you just start shooting out whatever spells come to mind, the nastier the better. The ministry's still tracking your wand – they'll have to send people once they realize what kind of shit is being cast over here."

Turning to Mr. Weasley, he said, "Protect Fleur, and make sure she's able to finish that ward, no matter what." The death eaters were a mere three rows behind them now, closing in fast. He gripped his wand in anticipation.

The voices sounded frustrated now. "Potter, you coward! Show yourself!" The entire row of benches across from them erupted, transforming from a stall into wooden projectiles upon a spell's impact.

McGonagall, apparently shocked into submission at the scene unfolding before her, particularly the take-charge attitude of her student, shakily queried, "and what would you have me do?"

His heart was pounding, a surge of adrenaline rushing through his body. "Just watch my back, professor," he stared at the feet that were approaching their row, "now, Remus! _Bombarda!_" Everything happened at once. Immediately, Lupin's wolf patronus shot out through the window and disappeared from sight, while he, followed by Hermione, made their way to the left aisle, flinging curses at the three figures still in the ambulatory, trying to draw attention away from Fleur and Mr. Weasley. Harry leapt out from his crouched position and aimed an overcharged curse at the nearest death eater who let out a blood-curdling scream of agony as his right arm was blasted from his body, leaving a bloody stump that ended midway down his forearm. Without his wand arm, the man was useless, not that it mattered much; his body quickly went into shock.

He could only hope that the others were doing exactly what they were supposed to, because now, Harry was far too concerned with his own battle to worry over anything else. He rushed the other three, darting and weaving about to avoid the barrage of curses whizzing past. McGonagall volleyed spells in the direction of the unknown assailants, incapacitating one with the element of surprise on her side. A stunning spell later, the man was down.

Another death eater approached from behind his fallen comrade, swiftly releasing a slew of cutting curses. "_Confringo_," Harry shouted, making an arcing motion with arm, his spell breaking his opponent's femur with a sickening crunch. The injured attacker cried out, but ignored his leg, continuing his assault by leaning against the bench for assistance.

"_Sectumsempra!_" The spell had too wide of a slash avoid properly, catching Harry across left shoulder, cutting deep from his clavicle down to the crevice of his underarm, despite his attempt to evade its path.

"Ahh," he yelled through gritted teeth, temporarily immobilized, but sent another spell flying as he caught his breath, "_defodio!_" The gouging spell caught the man square in the stomach; he doubled over in pain. Harry turned, clutching his shoulder, losing blood rapidly, to see the fourth robed figure attempting to blind-side McGonagall with the killing curse. Running towards her, he made to shove the older woman to the ground as the infamous green tinged curse hurtled past. "_Depulso,_" he cried, banishing large chunks of stone on the ground towards the death eater, who was clipped in the shins, causing him to trip over himself.

"_Stupefy,_" McGonagall finished for him. "Wasn't _I_ supposed to be guarding _you_?"

"Let's all it even," he said, offering her a hand up, face losing color. He quickly surveyed the fallen enemies, disconcerted by the relative ease in which they were taken down. These weren't fully trained death eaters; they had to be new recruits. But the fact that Voldemort was once again actively recruiting new members was an altogether unsettling matter.

Pushing those thoughts aside, however, he looked towards the apse, where Lupin and Hermione were still fighting, two against three. Harry approached just as Hermione caught the cruciatus curse in the back, her scream cutting through any other noise that he might've heard.

"Hermione!" He broke into a sprint towards her attacker, all thoughts of magic pushed aside, and simply launched himself at the figure, tackling him to the ground. The motion broke the spell's connection, and sent the man's mask to go flying, but it also fired a searing jolt of pain through Harry's left shoulder. The man used the distraction to flip the two over throwing all of his weight into Harry's hurt arm. "AHH!"

"Potter!" The, now unmasked, man said gleefully, standing up, leveling his wand at his chest, curse on the tip of his tongue.

"Amycus," a voice called out; Harry would have recognized it anywhere. "The Dark Lord wants the boy alive," Bellatrix said from her position in front of Remus, who cast a shield charm to protect against her spray of silver pellets. The third death eater was currently dueling McGonagall, as Hermione's body lay crumpled on the floor.

"Alive, yes. But that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun in the mean time, Bella, _crucio_," he hissed. Harry felt the all too familiar sensation of hot knives being driven in all over his body; the scream that came from his throat sounded foreign to him as he writhed on the ground.

"_STUPEFY,_" a voice roared from the left, as Amycus fell out of Harry's line of vision. From the ground, he turned his neck to see Fleur Delacour, unseen wind blowing her hair, fire in her eyes, an expression of fury clearly written across her features. She knelt down next to him as Arthur Weasley joined Lupin in the duel against Lestrange.

The popping sounds of apparition filled the air as more Order members joined the battle. Realizing that she was about to be outnumbered, Bellatrix made to disapparate, only to find out that she was unable to. "It's over, Bellatrix," Harry heard Remus say.

"It takes more than your pathetic wards to stop me, you filthy mutt," she snarled in reply. Before anyone could stop her, she reached within her robes and pulled out a ring, threaded through a long, thick chain hanging from her neck. "_Portus._" With that, she was gone. The last thing Harry remembered seeing before losing consciousness was Fleur's worried face, hovering over his own, whispering comforting words in his ear.

August 23, 1996

The glare of the early morning sun filtering in through the window was enough to stir Harry from his slumber, though he immediately regretted moving at all as he opened his eyes, on account of the searing pain that shot through his upper body, entire frame aching from fatigue. His weary groan elicited a gasp from the person seated beside him.

Their voice called out gently, "'Arry?" Harry looked over and saw Fleur peering anxiously back at him, hair pulled up in a ponytail, and dressed in simple loungewear, though in the usual, elegant, Delacour fashion.

"Hey, Fleur," he said hoarsely. Glancing around, he recognized his surroundings to be his bedroom in number 12. He looked down to see his torso shirtless, shoulder completely bandaged, left arm in a sling. He groaned again. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck."

She giggled. "Not a truck," she said, before adding softly, "just a few nasty curses." The memories of the Dursleys' wake came back to him in full force, and his eyes snapped open in alarm, moving to get out of bed.

"Where's Hermione?" His voice was frantic.

Fleur put a hand on his right shoulder, stilling his motions, "Calm down, 'Arry, 'Ermione is fine, she is resting in ze room downstairs as we speak."

He relaxed, but only just. "What happened after I blacked out? How long've I been down for? Is everyone ok?"

She sighed dramatically, smiling, "so many questions, yet it is still so early, 'Arry. 'Ere, lay back down," she lightly pushed his chest and he obliged, sinking into the mattress, "and I will tell you."

Fleur stroked his hair and fussed the covers as she began explaining, "It iz Friday, so, don't worry, you 'ave only been asleep for ze night. Dumbledore, arrived wiz six uzzer Order members after you lost consciente; a few minutes later, ministry officials appeared, and zey took ze four mangeur de mort zat you and Madame McGonagall defeated into custody, along wiz zat 'orrible man, Amycus Carrow – 'e was ze one who cast ze cruciatus curse on you," Harry briefly recalled the image of an incensed looking Fleur, and fleetingly made a mental note to avoid being on the receiving end of _that_ ire at all costs. "'Owever, 'iz sister and Bellatrix Lestrange were able to escape."

Harry was about to ask about the people who were caught in the crossfire, but she, seemingly reading his mind, continued, "Zere were many, 'ow do you say, casualties, amongst ze muggles, but not many deaths. Ze ministry sent Obliviators to 'andle ze rest. I zink zey are going to call it a terrorist attack," she finished, smoothing out the blanket in front of him.

"And how is Hermione," he asked, anxious to know about the state of his best friend; the last horrifying thought he could recall was watching her body collapse in a heap. It brought back all too painful memories of the Department of Mysteries.

"She iz suffering from an overexposure to ze torture curse, but she will be completely 'ealthy again within ze next day or two." Harry breathed a sigh of relief, happy she would recover; he'd never forgive himself if something happened to her again because of him.

But he nerves weren't appeased just yet. "And everyone else - Remus? McGonagall? Mr. Weasley?"

"Everyone else is fine, 'Arry. It is you we are all worried about," she assured with a small smile. "You lost a lot of blood… we were not sure if your arm was salvageable," at that, he rotated his shoulder slightly, but recoiled in pain, "oh, stop trying to move it, you silly man! Ze healer fixed it for you; she 'ad to reset ze bone, and use potions for blood replenishment, but you will recover full motion." He looked appreciative of the fact, and remained silent, enjoying the feeling of her fingertips weaving through his hair, playing across his scalp.

"So you're ok, too, then?" he asked quietly.

Fleur smiled again, leaned in, and kissed the tip of his nose. "Yes, 'Arry, I am perfectly fine."

He relaxed his body, closing his eyes, letting himself revel in the comfortable feeling of the vast bed. "That's good," he felt for her hand, "I'm glad you're safe." She simply met his hand halfway and squeezed in reply. Silence lapsed until he thought out loud, "do you think I should've left… you know, when Remus told us to?" His heart rate sped up thinking about it, "I mean, I didn't have any sort of plan, I just _did_," he babbled, "…do you think it was a mistake?"

At that question, her fingers ceased their ministrations on his hair, and he reopened his eyes to see a hint of worried amusement on her face. "'Arry, I zink you have a knack for asking superfluous questions, non? Do you not recall ze conversation we 'ad not so long ago? Zinking about uzzers first… it is what you do, mon chéri. For you, it is like breathing: no choice at all. It is leaving zat would 'ave been a mistake." Of course, Harry knew she was right, he would have never been able to simply leave everyone there to die, but perhaps he just needed the verbal reassurance to tell him that he'd made the right choice. "And for not 'aving 'ad a plan, I zink it was a rather successful outcome, all zings considered," she soothed. "Now, if you 'ave no more silly questions left to ask, you should try to get some rest," she said, a tone of teasing in her voice.

Harry gave an easy grin, "'silly questions'? Oh, you wound me; and here I was, about to compliment you on your spectacular bedside manner."

"Merci, 'Arry," she laughed, "but you should know zat I do not sit idly by ze bedside for just anyone."

He made a noise, "I dunno about all that, but trust me, if you keep this up," he nudged his head into her fingers, which were already back to caressing his scalp, "you might just have to be my healer _every_ time I need one." The sound of her laughter filled the air as Harry drifted off to sleep once more.

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**Addressing points brought up by reviewers:**

**justbin**: (1) I disagree with the idea that it would be realistic for Harry to handle the animagus situation with complete maturity; first, he's a teenager, even if he is a little more mature than most others his age, he is, in fact, still 16. Furthermore, as far as canon goes, I've noticed that the subjects that he's most titchy about are a) his family and b) the possibility of him being 'dark' because of Voldemort's influence via scar, so I would argue that it is far more realistic for him to be upset when matters concern either of those topics, than it would be for him to take it with stride. This is, perhaps, reminiscent of the parselmouth fiasco; he just needs a little more time to work it all out. (2) The subject of animagus in the books is sort of vague and a bit unbelievable [ie. 6 registered animagi in the 20th century, yet we know of 4 unregistered ones?]. The only way I can account for the discrepancy, is to concede that lots of people must have forms, but maybe not all take the time out to research the process to find them out. Ron and Hermione have this ability, but all 3 teens are far from being accomplished animagi - none have accomplished unaided transformations, and none have really taken full control over themselves once in animal form. (3) "Super powerful trio of justice..." made me literally laugh out loud; trust me, not happening.

**Prustan**: (1) Your spousal abuse comment could not be more on point - I thought the exact same thing. I don't want to make any statements about secondary pairings just yet, but I'm all but positive that Ron/Hermione isn't something that will appear here... can't make any promises just yet though, everyone's got a lot of changing/growing up to do. (2) As for Rita... just wait and see.

**Slytherin66**: As you pointed out, this is very much so like the parselmouth situation all over again, but don't lose all faith in Ron and Hermione just yet... I don't particularly love either character, but I have to take into account that they've stuck around through quite a lot in canon (H more than R, but still). Just give them a little time.

**PerfesserN**: I'm glad you find the story enjoyable thus far, and I apologize if the smoking references dredge up bad connotations. I assure you, though, it has a lot less to do with being 'cool' and a lot more to do with simply being reasonable. In England during the mid-1990s, 33% of males aged 16 and up smoked; now, it's less than 20%. It was a different cultural phenomenon. Rest assured, he's not going to be some chain-smoking nicotine addict, I just think that he leads a pretty stressful life and it's plausible that he'd turn to it to take that edge off every now and again.

**noylj **: (1) Harry's return/imprisonment every summer to the Dursleys' is just one of those nonsensical occurrences that I begrudgingly take as fact because it happens in canon (years 1-5). I think you bring up completely valid arguments against why it's a ridiculous idea, but I chose not to tackle that particular problem in this story, though I fully plan on exploring unique (read: not overdone) ways to confront this in later stories. (2) Tonks' attitude can be explained, in part, due to the fact that she and Harry aren't really friends just yet, in ch. 1, so, she reacts to his outbursts in the way she is accustomed, even if it's not the best route. But, that fact aside, I think Harry needs someone who's willing to yell back at him whenever he acts childishly; otherwise, it's just enabling the temper tantrums. All the same, the point is, she's not perfect, which is completely intentional. I'd much rather her character be realistic/imperfect than some ridiculous mary-sue who's completely one-dimensional and cliché.

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**Author's Note**: The warning from the last chapter stands, so take heed: updates will slow substantially (but trust that this project will not be abandoned), as my life will be a shitshow between now and May. I hope that fact won't deter you guys from reading, but I figured it was only fair to throw the statement out there. Per usual, comments and criticisms are welcome. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

The One With Dark Dreams and Darker Offers

August 24, 1996

_The crash of shattering glass invaded his ears. "Who's there?" A voice called out shakily. Even in the dark, Harry recognized the sound by its gruff quality to be Vernon Dursley. "I've got a gun, you know!" More sounds of disarray could be heard before all noises ceased. A few moments of silence followed by the shuffle of footsteps were punctuated by a scream. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"_

_A second scream, feminine in nature this time, immediately followed the command. Whimpering could be heard. Now the noises of an incessantly barking dog were added to the chaos. "Vernon!" The thud of a body collapsing impacted like a clap of thunder through the stillness of the air._

_Harry tried to make sense of it all, but was having a difficult time managing; it was pitch black, so he couldn't see anything; his body wasn't reacting to his brain's command, and, thus he couldn't make a move to get closer to the sounds; lastly, and this was the most disturbing of all, Harry was positive that what he was hearing was quite impossible – they were dead. He saw their caskets just yesterday. Where was he? What was going on?_

"_Idiot muggle. Did you really think your little toy would work against us," a man's silky voice filled the air. His question was punctuated by the sound of exertion in his voice, as if he were in the midst of engaging in an unseen activity._

"_Enough, Antonin," another male commanded, though with a hint of amusement underscoring his tone. "You'll bleed him dry before we get the chance to leave our mark. Save some of his filthy, muggle blood for the message."_

"_I thought we were saving the other fat one for that."_

"_What does it matter," a woman's voice replied impatiently, "let's just get on with it!"_

"_Fine, Simone, we'll do it your way," Antonin said, "But you always take the fun out of these missions."_

"_You can have your fun later," she snapped, "the Dark Lord wants this completed, no excuses, and I, for one, do not want to incur the wrath that He saves for those who fail him."_

"_Oh, very well, then," he conceded._

"_Shut UP, you mangy beast!" Ripper's barks, the only other sounds now, ceased midstream, ending with a piercing yelp._

_Darkness swirled around Harry, and, suddenly, he was face-to-face with the masked man who had just spoken. They were occupying the master bedroom in Privet Drive, an area of the house that Harry seldom visited. His immediate reaction to was take the defensive, but he quickly realized that no one seemed to be aware of his presence, nor could they be blamed for it. It was as if he was given an up-close and personal view of the proceeding through a television screen, with no control over what he was being shown, as he was not physically present._

_But what he saw was horrifying, to say the least. The mangled body of his uncle was on the ground near the foot of the bed, barely recognizable through his blood-soaked clothing. His shotgun lay useless beside him. Petunia, Dudley, and Marge were all bound and gagged, also on the floor, mere meters away, staring with equal horror, fear, and revulsion in their eyes. Ripper's body looked haphazardly thrown against the far wall, entrails exposed for all to see. Marge stared on at the body of her beloved pet with wide-eyed grief, tears streaming. Dudley, shaking uncontrollably at this point, began whimpering again in earnest, though the boy seemed unaware of the noises emitting from this throat._

"_Take that pathetic boy downstairs before he wets himself, Xavier," Simone said. "Paint the walls with him, just as the Dark Lord instructed." The man levitated Harry's cousin out of the room with a wave of his wand, Petunia struggling violently against her bindings at this action. The movement earned her a swift kick to the gut from the female death eater._

_Petunia, somehow, managed to free her mouth from the gag, and let out a cry of pain. "Please," she wheezed, "Please, I'll give you anything you want, please. Just don't hurt Dudley."_

"_Tell us where Potter is," Dolohov spat._

_She paled even further. "I, I don't know wh-where he is, I swear," Petunia stuttered, "they took him away."_

"_Then you are of no use to us, you foul wretch," Simone retorted, staring at the woman as if she were gazing upon a lowly creature, unworthy of her attention. Harry heard no more of the conversation, as the images before him began swirling in a haze, seconds away from disappearing altogether, but not before he was left with the sickening vision of his aunt being slashed into pieces._

_A brief interlude of the darkness that Harry had just cursed was, now, wholeheartedly welcome by him. He was more than content with being wrapped up in its emptiness forever, if it meant he never had to see another image of his relatives' death again. However, fate was much too unkind for such happenings. The darkness was still there, except, now, he was standing within it, rather than viewing it from a distance. Harry looked down and saw that he was back in his own body once more, though he didn't know if he was supposed to be relieved at the fact or not. Either way, he didn't have the luxury of pondering such thoughts, as he was distracted by the air in front of him as it began undulating, the misty outline of a figure appearing slowly out of the void._

_As the wispy silhouette began to materialize, Harry tensed. He knew whom it resembled, and he was equally aware of how impossible it was for Him to materialize. But, then again, it seemed as though impossibilities were fast becoming the theme of the events playing out before him, as of late. Seconds later, the fully formed figure of Tom Riddle as Harry remembered him from the Chamber of Secrets appeared before the teenager. Instinctively, he reached for his wand._

"_Good evening, Harry Potter." The face didn't match the voice. Tom Riddle, in all his youthfulness, had a pleasantly baritone voice; Harry could never forget the way that deceiving tone lulled him into a false sense of security, all the while, attempting to murder his best friend's sister a short distance away. But this Tom Riddle, the one with the same charming appearance, possessed frighteningly blood-red eyes along with a tone of voice that had a high-pitched, manic quality to it. It was the voice of Voldemort after his resurrection, the Voldemort of the Department of Mysteries. The Voldemort from his most terrifying nightmares._

_Harry willed his throat to make a noise, but he found that it wouldn't. Riddle spoke again, unperturbed by the other boy's silence. "Did you enjoy the memory my followers provided for me? I thought you would be pleased to see the work that went into my gift to you."_

"_Your _gift_ to me?" he was able to choke out. "Killing my relatives? That's your idea of a gift?"_

"_Of course it was," he replied smoothly. "Did you forget that our minds are linked, Harry Potter? That I have access to every single one of your thoughts and memories? I have seen every beating you have endured, felt every night you starved alone, heard every taunt your useless cousin has ever thrown at you. I thought you would appreciate what I have done. We are not so different, you know. We have both overcome many a great obstacle to become what we are today."_

"_I am _nothing_ like you," Harry said vehemently._

"_No?" Riddle asked, amused. "You sound quite sure of yourself, Harry. Tell me, how saddened were you when you learned of their deaths? Do you dare claim that you have shed tears at the loss?" Harry felt sick. He didn't cry for them, no, but neither did he revel in their deaths. But could he really be blamed for not being more emotional? Did his apathy make him like Voldemort?_

"_That doesn't mean anything," Harry asserted. "I didn't _want_ them dead. You killed them, remorselessly, for your own sadistic pleasure."_

_Tom Riddle laughed. It came across as a cackle. "Oh, no, Harry. Not for my own pleasure. Believe me, it was simply a means to an end. I wanted you to have a glimpse at how the other half lives. I can offer things to you that are beyond your wildest imagination, things you cannot even begin to dream of. Anything you want, you need only command it, and it will be yours. There is no shame in retribution. But perhaps I misjudged you. Perhaps this was not the best way to show you an example of my kindness."_

_Harry stared at the young image of Voldemort in front of him, sheer loathing in his eyes. "No, I'd say murdering people I know isn't the best way to win me over, Tom."_

_Voldemort's stance, previously exuding ease, immediately went rigid. "You will not call me by my filthy given name. I am Lord Voldemort, now and forever."_

_The pieces of the puzzle, jumbled until this point, finally fell into place for Harry. "This is a dream, isn't it? You're here, looking like you did in your prime, like an actual human being, because that's how you want me to see you right now. This isn't real."_

"_Very good, Harry Potter. We are indeed in your dream. However, do not be so quick to write this encounter off; this is, indeed, _very_ real, with _very_ real world consequences, if I so choose. Once I realized you were clumsily entering my mind without even an understanding of the art, I rectified the situation. We are here, again, by my choosing. I was curious to see how you reacted to my good will, especially since my followers failed to bring you in before me. This was the next best option, I suppose."_

"_Maybe you should invest in more competent followers, then, seeing as how half of them are locked up and the ones you sent couldn't even hold up against a sixteen year old and his companions." He was goading the man. Now that he realized it was only a dream, his courage returned to him._

"_Do not flatter yourself, boy," Voldemort replied sharply. "I sent my lowest level initiates on that mission; you were not to be harmed. Clearly they failed. As I do not reward failure, you should inform your friends in the ministry to take care of them, because if they return to me, I will kill them myself."_

"_Amycus Carrow is hardly a simple initiate. He's in your inner circle, Riddle."_

_The Dark Lord glowered. "Amycus is the exception. He allowed himself to get distracted and will pay dearly for his misstep. But we are straying from the topic at hand, Harry Potter."_

"_And what would that topic be, exactly? I still don't know why you've called me here."_

"_We are discussing my generosity, Harry. And you have been rude, my boy, not even stopping to thank me for my troubles." Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, ready with a snarky comment, but Voldemort cut off his rebuttal, "however, as I have discovered, that fool, Dumbledore, has done more damage to you than I originally thought; he has made you soft. Made it so that you cannot even enact justice on those who have wronged you. We will have to work on that. However, I anticipated this issue, and planned accordingly; I will grant you one more act of kindness. I am in a good mood tonight, after all. Perhaps this will make you understand." The darkness around them swirled once more and Harry was suddenly immersed in a new surrounding. The entire experience was not unlike that of a pensieve memory._

_The room was made entirely of stone, with high ceilings, a large rug covering the ground, and a hearth at one end of the room, its fire the only source of light for its occupants. Standing near the two unseen observers were five figures facing the distinctly recognizable form of Voldemort, as he was supposed to be – inhumanely snakelike, and coldly imposing. All traces of the boy he once was were gone. Harry looked between the Tom Riddle of the past and the one of his present day with morbid fascination, in disbelief that they were one in the same._

"_It is done, my lord," a man amongst the group spoke._

"_Excellent, Yaxley," Voldemort surveyed the group. "Where is Gibbon?"_

_Another figure hesitantly answered, "Captured, my lord. Amelia Bones incapacitated him."_

"_Then he was a weak fool. A waste of time. Robinson." The man he addressed stepped forward, bowing low. "Were you successful in your task?"_

_He replied straightaway, "Yes, my lord. The girls will transform with the coming of the next moon."_

"_You have done well, Robinson," he said approvingly. "Now, it is time to test your allegiance to me."_

"_My lord?" His tone was laced with fear. Whenever Voldemort tested the loyalty of a follower, it never boded well for the party in question. The others around him took a step away from the man, leaving him standing in the center of an impromptu semi-circle._

"_Remove your cloak, Robinson." The man hesitated, hands shaking, but, nonetheless, removed the offending article of clothing. Voldemort didn't even wait for the cloak to hit the ground completely before made a sharp motion with his wand, uttering the phrase, "dicerpo cruorem vita." Robinson's body immediately slumped over as he fell to his knees, a red circle steadily increasing in diameter on his chest, animalistic howl of pain erupting from his throat. "Smith. Nott. Help him stand. Yaxley, collect the blood." The three did as they were told, knowing better than to ask questions. The man was dead within the next few seconds._

_Meanwhile, Harry was observing the scene with abject revulsion; Riddle observing Harry. "Do you take offense to the way I treat my followers, Harry?"_

"_You killed him," he said in disbelief. "That's how you reward them?" He turned to face the young Riddle. "You tell him a job well done and then you slaughter him?!"_

_The anger didn't faze Voldemort in the least. "Many consider it the highest honor, to be personally taken down by my wand. It is their sacrifice to the cause. Surely you know enough about _that_ idea, do you not? Dumbledore asks of his followers their livelihoods, their freedoms, their very happiness. I merely demand loyalty. It is a small sacrifice, in comparison."_

"_Small sacrifice, my arse," Harry growled, watching the followers carry the body of the deceased Robinson out of the room._

"_I am surprised at you, Harry. You have not even asked, yet, why he had to die," Riddle said casually._

_Harry looked at him with incredulity. "Why would I ask? I already know the reason; you're just sadistic. It was a pointless death."_

_Voldemort offered a knowing smile, one that oozed smugness and danger. In his hand appeared the phial that Yaxley was using in the memory. He shook it around in the palm of his hand. "Robinson's death was anything but pointless. Do you know, Potter, what the lifeblood of a werewolf can do for those he has bitten?" Harry didn't know the answer to that question, but he wasn't about to admit that fact. He simply stared at the liquid within the glass cylinder. Just as well, because Voldemort didn't wait for a reply. "If the victim of those he has afflicted can get a hold of the werewolf's lifeblood, they can produce a potion that will cure their lycanthropy. As long as they take the potion before their first transformation, they will remain disease-free. The next full moon is on August twenty-eighth, Harry Potter. A mere four days away."_

_Harry's mind went back to Kingsley's report, the night of the mass attacks. Three bitten at Madam Bones'. All apparent victims of this Robinson fellow that Harry just watched get drained dry. Was Voldemort offering what Harry thought he was offering? He kept a healthy air of skepticism surrounding his next words. "Why should I believe you? I've never even heard of that potion before; if curing lycanthropy was as easy as making a potion and a few drops of blood, why bother with Wolfsbane? Don't you think more people would know about it?"_

"_Oh, no, Harry. You see this is where the naivety of the other side never ceases to amaze me. Lifeblood is drawn straight from the heart; it is composed of the very matter that allows a person to remain alive. Removing it from them has one very obvious consequence, and because of that, any potion that requires lifeblood is deemed a dark technique. Even with the ministry's clear vendetta against the werewolf population, they would never legalize such an abomination in their minds. As it is, it _must_ be lifeblood, it _must_ be before the first transformation, and it _must_ come from the werewolf that inflicted the wound. So, you see, many stigmas and stipulations surround this practice; that is why it remains little known."_

_He tried to comprehend the influx of information; the idea of Voldemort doing something for him was wholly disturbing to Harry. "I still don't trust you. How do I know you're not lying; that you're not just trying to hurt my friends to get to me?"_

_Riddle smirked once more. "Believe me, if I wanted to harm you, I would have done so already. My reach far surpasses that which you believe. As I have told you before, Harry, I am granting you an act of kindness. Has Dumbledore ever done anything for you in this way? I am simply showing you how much more beneficial it would be for you to be my ally, rather than under the thumb of that half-senile old fool."_

"_You killed my parents," Harry snarled, "even if I could look past the rest of your misdeeds, I will _never_ forget that you're nothing but a murderer, Tom Riddle."_

_Voldemort's eyes flashed, unbridled rage swam beneath his pupils. "I warned you once already to not use that name, boy. Now, you are trying my patience. But, because I am fair, I will give you a little more time to think over what it would mean to be my ally. In the mean time, perhaps I should remind you of what it costs to be my enemy. Keep this in mind, Harry Potter, for the next time we meet, I will not be so lenient towards your insolence." The form of young Tom Riddle faded into the darkness of the background, not waiting for a reply. Before Harry could do anything else, his surroundings began swirling around him once more._

_He reappeared at the end of a driveway, in front of a large stone house he didn't recognize. Not sure of where he was supposed to go, Harry simply made his way to the front door, paused, took a deep breathe, and walked through the entranceway. Inside, the room was brightly lit and tastefully decorated, with an air of warmth and cheerfulness. Harry heard voices happily chattering away in the direction of the living room, so he followed the sounds. He was pleasantly surprised to see that the room revealed a large number of female classmates his year, as well as some that were the year above and below. Though there were a great many of faces that he couldn't quite place names to, Harry immediately recognized Hannah Abbot, Cho Chang, Megan Jones, Luna Lovegood, along with many others, even though the group was heavily composed of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls._

_However, a sickening realization dawned upon him as his eyes fell upon Susan Bones, her face seemingly triggering Harry's comprehension of the scene before him. This had to be Amelia Bones' residence… and that meant he needed to leave. Harry had absolutely no desire to witness the attacks that he was all but certain were imminent. The lights flickered, as if in utter disregard to what he was currently thinking. As the windows shattered around him, he found himself rooted to the spot. Harry knew he wasn't going to be able to help anyone; it was a memory, after all. This had already occurred._

_All the same, though, he also couldn't will himself to leave. He watched as six death eaters (that he already knew were coming) stormed into the house, saw the scene of mass chaos ensue as a couple dozen schoolgirls tried to defend themselves against vicious attacks, witnessed Amelia Bones appear from the other room to repel the intruders. His stomach twisted in knots as he saw a few of the cloaked figures leering at the teenaged girls, lecherous intentions made obvious by their expressions. He tried to intervene, in spite of himself, but obviously to no avail. Finally, when Harry saw a masked man, who he now knew to be Robinson, forego his wand and physically maul Susan, taking Luna and Marietta with her, he couldn't watch anymore. Harry rushed the man, wildly swinging his arms at Robinson's face, hoping for some sort of impact, but it never came. Instead, his fists sailed straight through the wispy vision of the man. Unfazed by the external force, Robinson continued his attack, sheering the skin across Marietta's face into a bloody mess. Harry screamed in horror and frustration at the scene before him when it suddenly, inexplicably, began to hazily flicker around him before it disappeared entirely._

"Harry!" Even in the dim light originating from the wand on the bedside table, the image of a lavender eyed, strawberry blond, anxious-looking Tonks kneeling on the bed next to him engulfed his vision. He shot up, forcefully grabbed her hands by the wrists, which were previously shaking him at the shoulders in an attempt to wake the young man, panicked look in his eyes. "Harry," she said again, this time with a hint of trepidation in her voice, "Harry, you're hurting me." He looked down at the death grip he had on her wrists, and immediately let go, as if burned, allowing for her fingers to recover circulation. Slowly, Harry's mind caught up with him, letting him regain his senses after his disturbing, to say the least, nightmare.

His heart was pounding out of his chest, but Tonks' presence had a noticeably calming effect on him. "Sorry," he finally croaked out, staring at her. "What're you doing here, Tonks," he asked, still out of it. It wasn't meant to be rude, he was genuinely still trying to piece together what the hell was going on at the moment.

If Tonks was affronted, she didn't show it. "I came by after dinner. Been here since then because Fleur had to leave; she's got work in the morning; it's about one in the morning. I guess I fell asleep for a bit," she replied, worried look still marring her features. "Must've woken up when you started thrashing about. Harry, your scar's bleeding," she said, concerned, as she touched his forehead. His hand followed hers and upon feeling his scar, Harry found that it indeed had remnants of blood trickling around the edges; it felt hotter to the touch and was raised more than usual. It didn't cause Harry to worry too much over it, as he'd experienced it before, but he saw that Tonks was exceedingly concerned over the occurrence, so he quickly tried to change the subject.

His hand moved from the scar to his glasses – he must have fallen asleep with them on. Harry took them off to find that the thin wire frames were twisted horribly out of shape. "I should really remember to take these off before I fall asleep," he said casually, in a poor attempt to divert the conversation.

"We'll get you a new pair." All the same, she observed him intently, relieved to see the color slowly returning to his cheeks and his eyes relinquish their manic glint. When he first snapped them open, Tonks instantly knew he was not his usual self; though his irises were still a devastating green, the shade was more ominous in quality and his pupils were dilated, it all screamed of disorientation. "Did you have a vision?" Her query was cautious, as she knew he hadn't had one since the end of his fifth year.

Harry used the hand of his uninjured arm to wipe the cold sweat away from his forehead. "I think so," he stated, unwilling to allow it to shake him up, "'cept, I've never had one like this before." He gripped her hands again, this time, gently. "I think Voldemort's been getting into my head without me knowing it." Tonks inhaled audibly at the assessment.

"Wha…how?" She was at a complete loss for words.

He shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I dunno. He spoke to me tonight, in my dream. Said he's seen all my memories." Harry recounted the experience in painstaking detail, unable to forget anything that he had just witnessed, but unwilling to believe the occurrences were real.

"He wants you to join him, then." It was a statement rather than a question. She wasn't afraid that Harry would actually take him up on the offer. It would be foolish to entertain such a notion. Instead, she was fearful because Voldemort was someone who _always_ got what he wanted, regardless of what it took to obtain it; if he wanted Harry by his side, there was no telling what lengths the Dark Lord would go to. Tonks shuddered. Harry shrugged.

"I have no idea what he's playing at. He said he was showing me how generous he could be, by killing the Dursley's," he tried to quell the guilt that was threatening to bubble over at this point, "and by killing that werewolf… but I can't make any sense of it. I doubt he wants me on his side. But, what if he really _can_ see everything in my mind… what if he's seen the full prophecy?" She was about to offer a response when the light on her wand went out. Reaching over to the table where it rested, the auror felt around for the birch and, upon finding it, recast a _lumos_. Directly beside where the wand previously lay, rested a tall and narrow glass decanter that Tonks was positive wasn't there before. Plucking the foreign object and the piece of paper attached around the bottle's neck, off the table, she brought it closer to her face to examine its murky colored contents.

Harry's eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the reintroduction of bright light in the room, but when they finally did, his anxiety returned to him. Harry looked beyond her shoulder and saw that in Tonks' hands was the very same phial that he'd seen in his, seemingly, illusory mind. "Where did you get that?" He tried to keep the frantic tone out of his voice.

"It was on the table," she turned her head to face him. He slid from his position on the bed to hover right behind her, reading directly above her right shoulder as she unfurled the attached parchment. _This draught is enough for one. Choose wisely. Now, do you still question the reality of our meeting?_

The look of shock on both of their faces would have been priceless had the situation not been so severe. "How did He…" Harry let the question trail, talking more to himself than to anyone else. This made no sense. Grimmauld Place was under the fidelius and unplottable. Those reasons alone should have made this impossible… and yet, here he was, staring at the very real glass phial in Tonks hand as it taunted him with its mere presence.

The only possible justification Harry could surmise was that there was a breach in the Order. Nothing else could explain it. _Someone_ had to have placed it there. But who? Everyone with access to the house was trustworthy, weren't they? Sure, Dung would do anything for a shiny galleon or two, but even he wasn't unscrupulous enough to work for the other side. Snape was a git and arguably a terribly human being, but he was Dumbledore's man. Maybe it was a member in the periphery, someone who wasn't around that often: Jones? Diggle? No, it had to be someone familiar enough to come into the building at an odd hour and remain unnoticed. As he was asking himself these distressing questions, a sickening realization suddenly dawned upon him. _Someone familiar with Grimmauld Place and someone who could come and go without notice_… "Tonks," he began shakily, "what happened to Kreacher after… after Sirius died?" He felt so _stupid_, never even giving the little treacherous elf a second thought.

She looked at him in alarm, following his train of thought. "We don't know, he just disappeared. I thought maybe he finally just keeled over and died, or that Dumbledore sent him to Hogwarts… except now that I know you're the owner of this place and not him, the second option obviously couldn't have happened." Tonks furrowed her eyebrows in deep thought. "Call him." Harry gave her a confused look. "Call him," she said again, "if he's alive, he _has_ to come when the master of the house commands him to."

He nodded in understanding. "Kreacher," he enunciated clearly into the void, half hoping to get no reply, as it would mean the vile thing was indeed deceased. However, Harry found that he had no such luck, because after a brief stint of silence, a tiny crack sounded through the room and an aged, haggard looking droopy elf appeared on the ground before him.

"Master called Kreacher," the elf ground out between gritted teeth. His gravelly voice only enhanced his clear distaste for the words he'd just spat out. "Half-blood could not just leave things be, he could not just let Kreacher serve the noble bloodline, oh no," Kreacher mumbled under his breath, though it was clearly heard by everyone in the room. Harry stared at the elf, anger threatening to bubble over. He forcibly suppressed the urge to punt the thing across the room.

Harry took a breath to calm himself before replying, "Yes I did. Where have you been for the past two months, Kreacher?"

The cadaverous elf shook slightly, as if trying with all of his might to stop himself from answering the question. "Kreacher has been with his _true_ mistress, faithfully serving the Black name like a proper house-elf."

"Which Black have you been serving?" Tonks asked quizzically.

Kreacher turned his head to face her with a disgusted look adorning his gnarled face, "Kreacher does not have to answer questions from filthy shape-shifter; only questions from half-blood master."

Tonks put a hand on Harry's arm to stop him from reacting violently towards the elf's contempt. "You will _not_ call her that, and you _will_ answer whatever questions she asks of you, _Kreacher_," Harry sneered the last word, "I order you to do so. She is a Black – you remember that; for some reason, it seems to be important to you. Now answer the question." She looked at Harry appreciatively, patting his arm in silent gratitude.

The elf widened his eyes in shock, not realizing that Andromeda's line has indeed been reestablished into the noble house. "I's been serving Mistress Bellatrix." Harry's eyes narrowed. It was all the response that he needed to hear. He stopped thinking clearly the moment he heard the name, but, luckily for him, Tonks stuck to the issue at hand.

"Did she tell you to bring this here?" Tonks held up the glass bottle. His eyes immediately grew shifty while he shuffled his feet and mumbled a response under his breath.

"Speak up," Harry barked, quickly losing the sliver of patience he had.

"Yes, Mistress asks, so Kreacher brings potion with dirty, impure werewolf's-" he was in the beginnings of a rant, so Harry cut him off, uninterested in hearing anymore.

"What else have you done," he asked, slightly worried that the elf had been sabotaging their headquarters for the entire summer.

"Kreacher cooks for mistress, and cleans for mistress, I's doing everything mistress wants. Sometimes Kreacher sweeps-" he continued.

Harry growled in frustration, conscious of the fact that the elf was eluding the question. "I meant," he interrupted loudly, "what else have you brought in or taken out of Grimmauld Place in the last two months?" Kreacher's ears drooped slightly, knowing he couldn't evade such a specific question.

"Potion in Miss Black's hand is the only thing Kreacher has brought into the noble house of Black," he paused shaking again as a result of his unwillingness to fully answer the question. Of course, his will lost, succumbing to his role as his master's elf. "Kreacher has taken jewelry from the Black house to return it to its rightful mistress," he said in one breath.

Tonks looked curiously at the elf. "What kind of jewelry?"

"Kreacher could not let the Black family signet ring fall into unworthy hands," he said earnestly. "Thieving Fletcher must not steal late mistress' precious things. Heirlooms within the Black family must remain with the family, lockets and rings and pe-"

"That's enough, Kreacher," Harry said, "you are to bring back everything you took from the house and return them to me." He looked down at the elf, who, for his part, looked murderous at his inability to disobey such orders. "After you've done that, you're to come straight back to Grimmauld Place, by yourself, and stay here. You will not serve anyone else anymore unless I order you to as your master." He knew Hermione would disapprove of the way he was treating Kreacher right now if she'd heard him, but Harry also knew that he couldn't risk betrayal by this elf, who most certainly would do so if given the chance. The only way to avoid that problem was to make his commands straightforward, with no room for interpretation.

Kreacher's shoulders slumped as he grumbled under his breath. "Is that all half-blood master asks of Kreacher?" Harry nodded curtly. The elf bowed, grumbling still, and disappeared with a crack.

"Well, that solves _that_ mystery," Tonks said, relieved.

Harry agreed, relief allowing him to move onto different matters. "I think I need to get to St. Mungo's."

Tonks looked a bit skeptical as she said, "are you sure this isn't a trick?" She shook the bottle slightly, watching the cloudy contents swirl around in its container.

"You heard Kreacher; that's got werewolf's lifeblood in it, he can't lie to me," Harry said as he stood, mind already made up, "and for whatever reason, Voldemort's trying to win my favor. I don't even care why at this point; all I know is, right now, we're holding a potion that can stop someone from monthly painful transformations for the rest of their life – what else matters?"

She looked at him, surveying him critically. "You know what the implication of using this is, right? Of accepting his 'generosity'," she used hand quotes at this word, "he'll think you've agreed to his terms." Harry shrugged his uninjured shoulder.

"I'll worry about that when I have to I guess. All I can know for sure is that this can help someone. And in all honesty, it can't possibly get worse than the way it is now. He already wants me dead… Let him get mad; what's he going to do, kill me twice," he joked. He was trying to lighten the mood; being around Tonks always caused him to be more playful for some reason.

Tonks just stared at him before laughing in disbelief. "Harry. It's, like, two in the morning on a Saturday; you can't go to St. Mungo's right now." He was about to protest before Tonks finished her statement, "visiting hours are over. Those healers don't make exceptions for anyone; why don't you wait until later, and I'll go with you? The next full moon is a few days away, they'll still have time."

He just sighed and acquiesced, realizing that she was being more rational than he was at the moment. "Oh, alright," he said as he sat back down. "I don't think I'm very tired anymore though. I've been sleeping all day."

"No worries, we have plenty of things to talk about anyhow." Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Namely your ridiculous hero complex and your shoddy sense of humor," she said amicably, "only you would find being wanted dead, by You-Know-Who, to be funny, and only you would trade your own personal safety for the possibility of a cure for someone you don't even know."

Harry grinned. "I guess you just have to get used to my jokes. Call it an acquired taste," he ignored the hero comment; it was a topic that almost always made him uncomfortable. Tonks just rolled her eyes.

"In my book, the phrase 'acquired taste' is just code for 'disgustingly awful' – like caviar; you're comparing your jokes to fish eggs, Potter."

"S'not my fault you have such pedestrian standards, then, is it, Tonksie," his grin broadened.

She hit him with a pillow. "Oh, har-bloody-har. And don't call me Tonksie."

"So, you prefer Nymphie, then?" The question earned him a light smack on the back, below his shoulder, by the witch in question. "Oi, injured person over here," he said pointing to himself, feigning pain.

"Oh, quit being a baby, you know that didn't hurt," though she was smiling at his antics.

"Did so," he retorted in jest, "I think you just don't realize your own strength, Nymphadora."

She wrinkled her nose in disdain, "well, I was going to offer to kiss it all better, but now that you've gone and used that horrid name, you can forget about it, mister."

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, playfulness gone. "Your name's not horrible, you know," he said seriously, "and I get tired of calling you Tonks. Calling a close friend by their surname all the time just gets plain weird."

Tonks looked embarrassed as she lay back down. "I just don't like my first name, ok? Figure something else out, if you must, but seriously, Nymphadora has got to go."

"What's your middle name, then?"

She made a disgruntled noise before mumbling, "Lysandra." Harry tried to hold back a laugh, but earned a dirty look at his failed attempt.

He quickly coughed to disguise the noise, "ahem, right. Well, middle name's not going to work either, then, huh?"

"Well, what do you expect from a woman named Andromeda? The whole family's barmy! Obsessed with names that were in vogue during the fifth century BC and what not," she huffed.

Harry lay down next to her, patting her shoulder, "we're just going to stick with Tonks or 'dora for now," he said lightly. The two made idle chatter for a while, but Tonks, who worked, rather than slept, through the previous day, eventually nodded off, leaving the teen to his own thoughts. At some point, though, Harry dozed off as well, waking up to the sensation of warm breath tickling his face. He cracked open his eyes to see a gorgeous, but eerily familiar, face resting mere millimeters away from his own. He pulled away slightly in order to see the person more clearly.

"AHHH!" Harry practically flew away from the other body occupying the bed. Tonks shot out of bed, startled, looking around the room wildly. "What the hell, Tonks?!" He clutched his chest from beside the bed.

"Wuzzit?" She continued to look confused at the situation.

Her reply only earned her a bewildered stare from Harry. "Jesus Christ, and you say _my_ sense of humor is shoddy? Are you trying to give me a heart attack or something?"

Tonks looked back at him blankly; she was still confused, but, moreover, she wasn't a morning person by any stretch of the definition, and, thus, was having a particularly hard time comprehending the situation. "What the hell are you on about," she asked, genuinely puzzled.

"I fell asleep next to you, and you morphed into Narcissa Malfoy on me," Harry said plainly, taking a deep breath now that the initial shock value had worn off. Tonks was still for a moment before she burst into a hysterical fit of laughter. If anything, Harry only became even more bemused.

"It's really not that funny, you know," he said.

She was clutching her sides at this point, unable to stop her giggling. Finally getting control of herself, Tonks wiped a tear away from her eye before saying, "You idiot, this is my natural form," she chuckled a little bit more, "sometimes, if I'm really exhausted, I'll accidentally shift back in my sleep." She closed her eyes and donned a momentary look of concentration. Suddenly, her long, dark blond hair shortened in length to her shoulder, becoming curly ringlets once more, and readapted its random areas of pinkish tinge. Her cheekbones softened, rounding out the angular Black features, but when she opened her eyes again, the violet hue remained. This was her usual impish, almost cherubic, look. "Better?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, "so… you weren't just trying to take the mickey, then?"

She shook her head, "good lord, no, that'd be an awful prank, wouldn't you say?" Her amusement was replaced by a sudden look of seriousness, "it doesn't bother you, does it," she asked hesitantly, "my natural form, I mean." She wasn't sure why his answer was causing her so much anxiety. All the same, she waited with bated breath.

He shook his head adamantly. "No, no, not at all," he offered fervently. "It just took me by surprise for a moment. The resemblance really _is_ uncanny. I just wasn't expecting to wake up next to a face that I had no recollection of laying down next to – especially when I'm so used to it sneering at me," he joked.

Tonks' relief was palpable. "My mum always told me I was a spitting image of her sister when I was growing up – except my eyes, that is. It's probably part of the reason why I like to use my abilities so much. Well, that, and it's just fun, really, to change everyday on a whim, and be as pretty as I'd like."

Unthinkingly, he said, "I wouldn't worry about that if I were you, you're plenty attractive as is." Immediately, Harry wanted to rescind the comment, especially upon seeing the wicked grin adorning Tonks' face.

"I see. Got the hots for ole Draco's mum, do you?"

Harry, though slightly embarrassed, just laughed. "Well, if we're going strictly by looks, I wouldn't say no if you know what I mean. But let's be honest, her demeanor, and the fact that she's _Malfoy's mum_, means that I'd rather gouge my own eye out than hold a conversation with her, much less do _anything_ else beyond that. I'd say you lucked out, though, Tonks – best looking Black in the gene pool, by far. And an infinitely better conversationalist," he finished impishly.

Tonks beamed. "Flatterer." Neither brought up the fact that Harry had just all but admitted his physical attraction towards her.

Instead, he shrugged, damnable roguish grin still on his face, "s'not flattery if it's true, 'dora," he said simply. Not wanting to pursue the topic much more, as it was treading dangerously close to uncharted waters, he stretched his back, causing his spine to emit a satisfying pop, before bringing up the trip to St. Mungo's once more.

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Author's Note: This chapter is a lot less action packed, and slightly more focused on character development – it's also a bit shorter than normal, but, as I said before, real life is busier at the moment than it has been in the past, and it's been hindering this story's progress pretty substantially (but I rationalized that readers would rather have a slightly short chapter to read than have nothing at all). For the same reason, I apologize for any glaring typos or mistakes; I hope there aren't any, but I only edited this _very_ briefly. Those points aside, I hope it's still enjoyable! Per usual, read, review, comment, and/or critique; I appreciate it all!


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